Describe your memories of a piece of furniture from your childhood home

The wooden children's chair is set on top of a massive cardboard box. It's supposed to be hidden. Out of reach from my little hands. That fact alone makes me want to see it more than any other treasure hidden in the basement. How it got on top of the box, in the open, is beyond me. I must take advantage of this opportunity. Who knows when it will present itself again?
I find a smaller box and push it up against the big one. It's sturdy enough to hold my weight as I climb, my body now surging with excitement that I might get to see the chair up close.
The box holds and before I know it, the chair is sitting within my grasp. 
The polished wood is carved in an ornate style that I can't identify. It's old. I know that. And the wood is worn, chipped in some places. The back support looks brittle, like it could disintegrate under my touch. I want to run my hands across the surface. To feel what my ancestor's hands felt. To experience what they've experienced. But in the back of my head, I hear my mom's voice, telling me to never touch it, because it could break. And I don't want it to break. Not only because it would make my mom upset, and I don't like to upset her, but because I don't want to ruin something so priceless.
The chair crossed the plains with my ancestors. With how old it looks, it might've even crossed the ocean. It is one of the only things my mom was given from her family that has been in her family for generations. And it calls to me. Why do relics bring such mystery and charm? What is it about them that beckons? Is it the stories they could tell? Or because they are one of a kind? Or is it because they hold value, more than any riches could buy?
I hear footsteps coming down the front stairs and shuffle away from the chair. My admiration time is up. I need to hide, or get back upstairs without being caught snooping through my parents' old stuff.
I make it around to the back stairs and out of sight just in time. My mom is calling for me. I act like I don't hear and climb the stairs as quietly as possible.
That was fun. Thrilling. I hope she doesn't notice the chair out in the open. Or the box I moved.
My mind hums with happiness. When will I get to do that again?