The Coat Rack

The Coat Rack

I was made from a special wood the boy found in his junior high shop class. I was made from old church beams that had been cast aside for the children to learn to build things from. Out of all the wood in the shop, my boy chose me. He spent hours and hours and days and days perfecting me. He sanded me down, put a fresh coat of shiny finish on me, added glimmering black metal hooks that he spray painted himself and called me his “Masterpiece.”

He was proud of me since the moment he created me. He claimed coats pile up on dining room chairs and get put away only when dinner guests actually need to sit. They had a coat closet—two, in fact—but after a long day at work or school, no one liked messing with hangers. A pileup of coats and jackets near the front door was never a welcoming sight. His house lacked a proper foyer or entryway, as many do, so finding a spot to store their stuff was a challenge. He told his parents that his Coat Rack was a vital accessory in their home. His family agreed and was delighted with his work and gladly placed me out where everyone could use me the way I was intended.

Each season, each year brought with it is share of memories. Fall was my favorite. Especially since summer was over they needed a focal place to hang their coats and hoodies.  The New England weather was so unpredictable that my new family came to me often, taking down their lightweight coats and sweatshirts as fast as they hung them up. Over the years and seasons, I watched my boy grow from a boys coat into a man size. When winter came, I stood strong with my former church beams and drilled in black hooks. I could take the pressure of the families heavy winter coats, thick snow pants and sometimes upside down snow boots. I withstood the cold and could weather any storm.  Spring allowed me some relief. The lightweight coats, rain jackets and umbrellas served an important role for me. No one in my family ever got wet! Then summer came and sometimes I got lonely. There were a few lone hoodies that rested on my hooks for late night campfires and marshmallow roasting, but I was mostly empty during the summer months, resting up for winter I suppose. I was always glad when fall came back around again.

The boy that so thoughtfully built me, who grew into a man, brought me with him to his new house, with his new family. But one day there was a significant event in the house and I accidently got knocked over and broken into several pieces. The man thought I could be fixed but it was not the right time to repair me so he carefully gathered up all my broken pieces then took me down to his shop in the basement. He cautiously laid all my pieces together to not lose any parts, then went away for what seemed like a long time. I waited in the basement with, a broken bike who needed a new chain, busted Barbie cars, cracked consoles, damaged dinosaurs, mangled match cars, tacky tape, and pulverized picture frames. We all waited and waited for the man to restore us back to our original usefulness.

Just as I thought I was going to gather cobwebs, the man had another plan, because finally the man came to put me back together! As he was humming along to a familiar tune, he mentioned that he had been looking for just the right glue to use that will hold me back together forever. He spent hours and hours and days and days refining me again. He sanded me down, put a fresh coat of shiny finish on me, repainted my glimmering black metal hooks and this time said proudly with love in his eyes, "You've always been my Masterpiece.” When I was refurbished to his satisfaction I was again placed out where everyone could use me for the purpose I was intended and I was an essential part of their home for generations to come.