Today I drank 17 cups of coffee. For those of you who know me, this is not abnormal behavior. I like coffee.
I remember my first cup, besides the sips my Pop-Pop would give me (he drank his black). I was volunteering for Habitat For Humanity in Pennsylvania back in the early 2000′s, it was early in the morning and somebody from the neighborhood came over with a Box of Joe and donuts to thank us for helping their community.
Needless to say, I ran to get a sprinkle donut. I don’t know why, but they are still my favorite. Which, brings me to another flashback of when I was a child. My father and I went out early one morning, probably to Home Depot, and he brought me to Dipping Donuts (Springfield or West Springfield, MA) to get a donut just as it came out of the oven. Man. I will always remember the taste of the donut.
We were not rich either. I know, you may think of this as a $0.50 donut, and it was, but we had a 7-person family with one income from a public job (we know that pay scale). Still, to this day, I never know how my parents survived. We always had food on the table, snacks in the cabinet, and clothes (ok, they were not name brand, but they looked pretty darn close). Hand me downs were normal, and I think they still should be. We had a video game system, ColecoVision, thanks to a tag sale; with only one game – BUT, we were not allowed to play for very often. Scratch that, I do not think there was a rule, but we always wanted to play outside anyway. When we were outside, my mother was either within an ear shot, had her eye on us, or mostly outside (much different than what you hear of now).
How many pitches did she throw? How many times did she bandage a scraped knee? How many times did she put eucerin on my 
elbows because they were severely dry? How many times did she chase the neighbors dog away because I was deathly afraid of it? How many times did I see her jump up, excited that my father was home from work? How many times did I hear them say they love each other?
How many times did my father hug me? How many times did he tell me he loved me? How many times did I measure incorrectly when helping him with a project, and then he would ask me to get him a drink or a tool and then I am sure he would remeasure and never tell me I did it wrong? How many times did I loose a screw, but it was never a big deal – even when it meant we had to go to the store to get more? How many times did he call me buddy?
Countless.
How much did this mean to me? More than they will know; their efforts, home, and love made me the man I am today.
So, back to the coffee. (I did get the sprinkle donut, by the way). We were standing around eating donuts and everybody else was drinking coffee – no, we were not a union (ha) – I felt left out. My first cup had about 7 sugars and at least 3 creamers. It still tasted bad. But I wanted to be on the in crowd, so I lied and said I liked it (later that week, at confession, I think the Priest must have laughed at that lie and story – Irish Catholic guilt eats at you).
Then came my first “real job” (paid, not volunteering) where I had to make sure I was awake, alert, and remain employed. We had a coffee machine and the one other employee drank coffee.
So I suppose my story is like many others you hear on after-school specials. It all started because I wanted to be part of the popular crew and was drinking one cup in the morning. Now I am atleast 15+ cups a day. Don’t worry, I only put 1 sugar (read: not sugar substitute), but still tend to get a “talking to” every year at the doctor.
So, the point of this article, which I hope I have not lost you yet.
Inhabitat featured a printer that runs off your coffee grounds. And I thought I would write about it. I just never thought the story would get this long, have many flashbacks, and have opened a window into my wonderful childhood.
Perhaps writing about coffee helps us reminisce?
Click here to read the article.
