I spent one elementary school summer at a Wayne State University youth camp building Lego robotics. Since both my parents worked full-time, the camp doubled as a daycare. After all the other kids got picked up, I would follow the counselor to some office to wait for my dad.

I didn't like sitting still in some boring, stuffy office. I fidgeted, shook, whatever children do outside the bounds of adult manners.

One of the office employees did not enjoy this. She demanded I stay put on the chair. “This is a place of business!” She asserted.

In ploy for attention, a kick against boredom, or merely an outburst of childish whimsy, I sat in the chair.

In, cross-legged on the floor surrounded by the legs of the chair.

“What are you doing?”

“I'm sitting in the chair.”

“Well don't, sit on the chair.”

“What do you mean? I'm sitting in the chair.”

“On. This is a place of business!”

I pouted, unable to argue prepositions, and pondered other ways to pass the time.

A few days later, I didn't see the office lady who demanded I sit on the chair.

“Where is she?”

“She had to attend her mother's funeral.” The counselor informed me.

“Oh.” My face contorted in a way it had not before. I didn't know how else to respond.

A few days after that, I saw her again. I didn't know what to say. As a bid for normalcy, I sat in my chair, hoping for the same response. She responded differently, gentle, or rather, tired. I couldn't quite tell, and I certainly couldn't ask. Instead, I climbed up to sit on the chair.