My father's bench was paler than all the other benches in the park. Each time I drove past, it seemed momentarily, a source of great discomfort to me rather than a great comfort. It was his memorial bench. A small rectangular brass plaque carried his name and personal details. Imported from Scandinavia and constructed from the finest pine, I considered it to be a personal sleight, that all the other benches were darker in colour and varnished. They looked cherished and well cared for. Although my father's bench had been there for over two years, it had not yet been varnished. This to me, did not seem particularly welcoming. He was an intruder. A newcomer. Luckily for him the bench was bolted to the tarmac.

That is why I felt almost indignant when I rode past, and saw it, to my mind, all alone. After all I have given him up to the park. One of the reasons for this, was so that all the townspeople could benefit from his memory. On a sunny day they could rest after a hectic shopping trip, or feed the ducks on the pond. Or just sit and watch life unfold in front of them, without having to participate. They could even throw greasy chip papers beside him, and smear vinegared hand marks on the seat. Or lie full length across it in the afternoon sun. At least the bench would be darker in colour momentarily. It was also of course, so that I could benefit from his memory. It was one of the remaining reminders left of him, even though it was wooden.

When my father's bench was installed, all the other benches had just been varnished. We enquired about the regularity of varnishing, and were told it was roughly, every two years. In two years the elements could be extremely corrosive. Sun, rain, hail, frost and snow. Would the bench last? If the bench began to crumble and disintegrate, did that mean that my memory of him would also? It became a great concern. Surely the point of having a bench, was to prolong his memory for as long as possible, both for ourselves and for other people. The very presence of the bench was in fact, saying, remember me. Wasn't it?

One day soon after it rained heavily and I drove past, my heart felt unchallenged. It was neither despairing nor euphoric. Just, on-line. However, as the rain seeped into the porous grains of the bench, the wood began to close, and the bench turned a beautiful shade of brown. Firstly, the seat, and then all the uprights. My happiness surged upwards. My father's bench was exactly the same shade of brown as all the other benches. Unfortunately it did not seem to last for long. I felt subsequently, that all the other benches seemed to be undecided, as to whether or not my father's bench, was to be invited to remain in it's present position.

One other positive note. It seems that my father's bench was extremely popular, both because of it's position and it's shaded spot. With regard to it's position, it was practically barely inside the park. Does that also signify that it could make a quick getaway? I wondered about this. It was also far enough away from the pond to resist too much interference from the ducks and swans. Perhaps the fate of his bench may be result of bench envy. Many of the other benches were covered in bird droppings. Some were given positions in quiet places, and very rarely used. The positon of my father's bench was of course, strategically planned, and jealousy could always be a factor. It remains that the bench was used particularly frequently, and that is after all a major point to consider. It may be the deciding reason for permancence. Public opinion could override any petty squabbles.

Who ascribed such power to a lot of wooden benches anyway. The presence of wood had been on the planet forever, so I supposed it was pretty powerful. That thought made me realise that my father's bench was not going to disintegrate just like that. I felt calm and reassured. But wooden benches. Now wooden boats, scything through the endless oceans. That was power. Carrying people and cargoes to distant lands. What about wooden houses? Sturdy and sheltering, warming and comforting. Within the wooden houses, wooden furniture, for peoples convenience and necessity. A wooden bench was a convenience also. But was it a necessity? Yes it was, I decided. You could not walk around the park without a bench or two within eyeshot. It wasn't right or proper. By rights, everywhere you looked, a bench should jump out visually. That was it then. The more the merrier. I said it could stay. Me. They better get used to it!