Dave Matthews, a prolific song writer and entertainer, had a smash song called “Ants Marching” in 1994. I was struck by his conjuring up of memories as a boy at his mother’s house. “And remembers being small, playing under the table and dreaming.” This song, however, has a terribly pessimistic view of life indicating that we are all just ants whether red or black with antennae waving . . . we all do it the same way.
This blog is not meant to be depressing. Life is that way sometimes all by itself. Therefore, I choose to emphasize that I loved the music of this Matthew’s song and only dwell on that one line about being under the table and dreaming.
Dining room tables long ago were places of safety and wonder as I crawled around, probably keeping it well dusted, as it became a fort or a city or just a place to think. With life’s dreams far in the future, what did I think about? The lyrics continue, “His concerns, he forgets them.” What worries or concerns did I have? That table from above was for eating when more than the immediate family ate. It was a very special place filled with great memories of relatives who are long gone but remain in our hearts and cause us to smile.
Little did anyone seated at the chairs know the special world that existed underneath among the triangular/ tripod sets of legs and unfinished underside of that great mahogany table. Even the chair legs came alive as an olden day Game of Thrones developed with certain enclosed areas of the chairs becoming different forts or garages or cities or kingdoms.
Rarely was there anyone under the table with me. This was my place. I am certain that my mother rarely went under the table which was a very fortunate thing for me because she would have seen the many scratches caused by my trucks or cars or even my plastic army men. I remember one remote control car that I loved that somehow kept crashing into the table’s legs. Perhaps she did know about the damage but chose to ignore it knowing that I was safe at home “playing under the table and dreaming.”
