Our Elmhurst living room was a homage to Mom’s baby grand piano. Scattered sit-upons dotted the remaining space like garden pavers. This may account in part for the fact Dad was an upsitter. He sat up on a couch, a chair. When he nodded off it was hard to tell since he looked about the same.

In contrast, my Uncle Frank was a blatant recliner. In fact he had a big brown one in his living room and made not one attempt to hide his enjoyment of it. Why would he? He was a big fellow with a big chair in a household that loved everything he did, including sleep.

Nobody else sat in his chair, though it could hold 3 or 4 midsized children. His chair was like having the man himself in the room, a man who gave off the warm scent of comfort. Creatures of all ages gathered near Uncle Frank like hands rubbing themselves above a firepot.

Dad didn’t draw others to himself. He didn’t withdraw either. He abided. He was a great abider, kind of like a horse happy in his stall. He was not a ground pawer. He gave off the plain smell of contentment. This made him the object of some suspicion to those who expected more of him.