Sunday, September 14, 2008

Sunday Scribblings: Java

My father was a coffee drinker. A non-stop coffee drinker. It didn't matter the weather. It didn't matter the activity. Coffee was the drink of choice. [Well, unless we're talking about him tying one on. In that case, bourbon was his choice of drink.]

I'd like to say I remember the brand of instant coffee he drank, but I don't. I'm thinking Folgers. There's some memory tickling my brain that says it was Folgers, but I don't know for sure. What I do know for sure is he had a particular cup he liked to drink from. A nondescript white cup. Nothing fancy. Nothing huge. Nothing special.

Nothing special except it was his cup. I don't really know how the goods were distributed when my parents divorced when I was 15. I remember thinking at the time that my dad must not have gotten much. Our household goods didn't seem to diminish very much at all. Later, I discovered he got the family portrait -- which now hangs in my living room -- and other pictures that meant something to a whole family, but not a broken one.

But he must have gotten the set of crappy cups. I know because when we started having contact again years later, there they were. And there they were when I was visiting him, making him a coffee when he was out working in the yard or keeping his manic self busy.

He drank it black. I would look at what he'd down and think, "Blech." I was not a coffee fan. Even when trying to make myself stay awake in college to study, tea was my beverage of choice. [After I'd stopped taking any artificial enhancements my freshman year.]

Many, many years later, I quit Diet Coke for Lent. Being a Diet Coke fiend, I needed to find my caffeine elsewhere, so I started making a pot of coffee in the morning. At first, it was just one cup, but it wasn't long before I was drinking nearly the whole pot, silently begrudging Pete when he'd have a cup as a treat after he'd had his morning cuppa (tea).

It's always black coffee I drink. Even after Lent, when the Diet Coke floodgates reopened, it was coffee I continued to have every morning. Black coffee. In a special cup. A white cup with a British flag and an American flag on it. The special cup which Eldest also uses when he makes a cuppa (tea) in the evenings.

My son looks at the black coffee I drink and says, "You're drinking dirt water." I do believe I had that same thought many, many times when watching my dad drink his coffee in his same cup day in and day out.

My son isn't going to ever drink coffee. He can't imagine it. He's a tea man. Gonna take after his dad, he is. Just like me.

7 comments:

anthonynorth said...

I like the way you've used coffee to tell us so much about your life.
Interesting read.

B. Roan said...

Excellent post, and agree with anthonynorth, good use of coffee in telling a story about your life. BJ

Liza's Eyeview said...

I have many memories of my father drinking coffee too :)

I took after him :)

Nice scribbling - I truly enjoyed reading it.

tumblewords said...

Coffee weaves a thread through your life - lovely post!

D... said...

I really love how you weave a story.

I used to seriously dislike coffee. But this summer, working summer school, I discovered that with a lot of cream & sugar, it's really pretty tasty!

Sian said...

I too enjoyed the way something as simple as coffee provoke a family story.
My family looks upon coffee as a new fangled American drink :o)
Tea for me please.

texasblu said...

lol! You did well connecting those memories with coffee! BTW - My grandpa used a nondescript white cup too!

Rides to Heaven on a Gyroscope

A couple of months ago, I saw a client I hadn't seen for a number of months. Like more than a dozen people have in the recent past, she ...