This Cuban mahogany rocker is one of a pair that belonged to your great-great-grandfather Angel Maria Cremata. He had them in the front parlor of his colonial-style home in Santiago de las Vegas, Cuba. This chair has witnessed a great deal of paternal decrees, fraternal kerfuffles, political intrigue, and even survived a bombing by the minion of a partisan rival. (Fortunately Papa, as Mamita would call him, was not in the room at the time.) There is speculation as to who “done it,” but I will refrain from including the likely culprit here as there is the delicate situation of the rascal’s descendants getting upset. Mother (Belica) had the rockers in her house in Tampa and then in Miami. She sat in these until she got too sick to get out of bed at the very, very, very end. She knew I loved them and bequeathed them to me. In a burst of filial amity I gave one to Tia Adele, and thus one of Angel Maria’s rockers now resides in Chicago.

It’s said that a person is not truly dead until the last person who knows his name is also dead. In that case, Angel Maria is still very much alive (as are Mamita, Papito, and Mother). When you see this rocker, think of Angel Maria, his handsome face, the white suit, his stentorian tones and official proclamations and know that he lives still in my memories of someone else’s memories and now yours.