We
were playing in the front yard when it happened. The old man from across
the street leaped over the fence and ran into the house. Grandma let out
a big yell. Mom joined her.
"What do you think you're doing, just invading someone's house like this!" my mother shouted.
Defensive for my family, even though I was only a small child, I entered the house and stood by the door in the living room.
The man had locked himself in the bathroom.
"Come out of there! This is not your home!" demanded mother. Grandma kept screaming incoherently.
Eventually he did come out and sat in the rocking chair in the living room. He began to rock back forth like a man out of control.
"Please, please, don't let them put me away!" cried the old man. "I'm not crazy, they don't have to do this! Please don't ley them put me away! My family doesn't want me anymore!"
Creak, creak, creak, went the wooden chair, back and forth. I had never seen someone rock in the chair with their whole body shaking in quick unison with it. Back and forth he moved.
He continued to beg and plead. His two granddaughters rushed over, but were only able to convince him to return to their property when the police came. He wept like a baby, so deep was his anguish.
I was too little to appreciate all the dynamics of what was going on. However, I sympathized with the elderly gentleman. I knew I would not want to be forced to leave my home and locked away. As it turned out, the family had concluded that he was senile and felt compelled to have him institutionalized. A truck came later that day with men in uniforms who took him away. He had always seemed like a nice, even if eccentric, old man. I never saw him again.
As the sun began to set, I noticed by the fence a dark object which proved to be the old man's wallet. My father sent me across the street to give it to his family. I think the adults in my family were all a bit upset at what had happened and did not want to talk to the man's relatives.
I gave them the wallet and noticed many people in the small house. They were talking about who would get what. They were talking about his things. I did not stay long, I had liked the two ladies who were there, but my relationship to the one who most insisted on this treatment of the old man was never close again.
A day or so passed before I overheard my parents speaking again about our former neighbor. It turned out that he had no sooner been institutionalized that he killed himself. Eventually, what was left of his family moved away, I guess the house reminded them that they had a part to play in what happened. I felt guilty too, even though I knew that there was nothing we could have done for him.
One night I awoke having to go to the toilet. I rose from my bed and was walking to the bathroom when I heard a rapid creaking sound. Was someone else awake? It was coming from the living room. I walked into the darkened room and immediately saw the source of the sound. The rocking chair was moving back and forth in the same frantic pattern I had seen with the old man. But this time the old man was not in the chair, no one was.
I ran back to my bed and tried to sleep. The next morning the house was in turmoil. It seemed that mother and a few of my siblings had also noticed the rocking chair moving on its own accord. It even seemed to pause and respond to conversation. The fearful phenomenon eventually became an accepted oddity in our house. Every day from about midnight to six in the morning, the chair would rock. It did so until the day the chair broke and we replaced it with a heavy recliner. We had our fill of rocking chairs.
Everything to which we cling in this world will ultimately be stripped away from us. We need to make Jesus our one great treasure and view heaven as our true lasting home.