the Rocking Chair

When I was a young lass, living in Ireland, me parents and younger brother all died o' the fever. Now, mind ye, we warn't rich in the first place, so I was left even poorer than the poor when this all happened. I had but two options; marry one of the men from our village, or travel across the ocean to America to live with me only living relative, a bachelor uncle.
The choices of men in our village were few and far between, and I wasn't of the mind to marry so young, anyway. So I packed what little clothes I had, and some other precious things and prepared to head for America. I almost left the cottage, but somethin' held me back. It was the rockin' chair that me ma had rocked me in. I had always wanted to have that chair for me own babies I hoped to someday have.
I don't know what came over me. I guess it was just a yearnin' to keep the things I loved close to me. Anyhow, an hour later I found myself walkin' down the road towards the docks with a rockin' chair strapped to me back.
I guess I made quite a thing to see, because as I bought me ticket with what money I had left , people kept starin' and pointin'. However, when I got on the boat, I saw families look at me with pity and understanding. They knew how important it was to have familiar things when ya left your home for a place ya know nothin' about.
The trip across the ocean took just about forever it seemed, but we finally made it. Oh, the trouble I had gettin' through Ellis Island with that chair. First off it had to be put with the baggage while I did me tests.They tested me to see if I'd be a helpful citizen and if I really had someone to live with. Those tests'll bout put ye in yer grave, they're so frightnin'.
After me tests were over, I had the worst time findin' me chair. And when I did find it, some old Italian woman was a-sittin' in it! So I say " Excuse me, mum, but yer sittin' in me chair." and she babbled somethin' back to me that I didn't understand.
A voice behind me spoke. " She says it's her chair." I turned and saw an interpreter.
" Well,pardon me, sir, but I'll be knowin' me own chair when I see it, I will."
"Can you prove it's yours?" He asks me.
"Yes, sir, I can. If I'm not mistook, there be a little dog carved into the bottom of that chair."
"And that proves it's yours?"
"Me grandfather carved it in with his own hands and wrote about it, too. Here's his journal." I showed the man me Grandad's journal, right to the page where he wrote about it. To my luck, he'd also drawn the dog.
" Well ," He says, " let's see if there really is a dog on the bottom of this chair."He said somethin' to the old woman, and she grumbled some.
Finally she got up, and we flipped the chair over. I was prayin' that the dog would b there or I'd look like a fool. It was there.
"Praise be." I whispered.
" It must be yours. The dog on the chair is exactly like the dog in the book. Here," He handed me the journal."You can take your chair, and you're free to enter America. May you find all you're looking for."
" Thank ye for yer troubles, sir." I said before strapping the chair on my back and heading out the door into America.
The reason I told ye this story is because it's always important to fight for what's yours. I don't mean fightin' in a mean, scrappin', rollin' in the dirt way. I mean the fair and square way, I do.
And I'm glad I fought for what was mine, because now I have the rockin' chair in me own house, just waitin' for every evenin' when I rock me babies to sleep.

                                               an original story by daughterofJudah