Sanctum Sanctorum

My “den” is important to me and over the years, it has been my quiet-place; my refuge in times of noise and stress; my sanctuary at the end of the workday. I was fortunate that our children learned about this paternal peculiarity quite early, and so, the “divine right” of fathers was entrenched into our particular distinct-society. Members of the family have grown to understand the unquestionable need that fathers have for their private times, in private places.

My private place is where I can read the news of the day, and contemplate; where I can ponder and resolve many of the serious national and international issues confronting us; where I can critique editorials and letters to the editor; where I can, in a lighter vein, check out the sports pages, do a crossword puzzle or flip through a magazine. And I can do all these things, and more, without being disturbed. Well . . . hardly ever.

The surest time for me is right after supper. The family seems to have a schedule that usually allows old Dad to take over “the room,” smoke his pipe and wallow in the printed page. Sometimes, though, there will be snide remarks like when my wife threatens to get a bookcase built or when my son asks why he can’t have his own “room,” or when they both say that it’s lucky that I wasn’t born on a farm.

But I don’t complain. All in all, I’ve got it pretty good . . . I’m king of the castle. Master of all I survey. I’m as safe and secure in my sanctuary as Quasimodo ever felt in his huge Notre Dame Cathedral.

My “sanctum sanctorum” is a small room, so everything is within easy reach. It is the warmest room in the house and it has good lighting. In addition to all that, my “throne room” has running water and it is the only interior room in the house with a lock on the door.