By dusan.stojkov on Skatehive
Photo by:https://unsplash.com/photos/table-setting-by-a-window-with-rustic-objects-JXCyBAXyQ5c Every year there are fewer of us at the table. Once the table felt too small for everyone, and today it feels too big. I look at it in the attic living room — a walnut table, forty years old, still defying time. As if it quietly mocks all of us, especially those who once sat around it and are long gone. The chairs are loose now, reupholstered more than once, but still standing. As if they are waiting for people to return. It feels like yesterday. Today I sit at that table as a grown man, but once I sat there as a five-year-old boy.My late uncle Mateja taught me how to wiggle my ears there. He sat across from me laughing while I tried to copy him. Somehow he succeeded — today I wiggle my ears for children, big and small, passing on that little hidden treasure called a smile. I remember another uncle, Aleksandar, the one my son was named after. He used to come early from the market, sit at this