|Photo: Brown/Evans 2014|
We enjoy visiting coffee shops because we like coffee. But also because we like to hear the stories of the people who work there, of the people who started the shop.
Sometimes it’s about their interest in coffee. Sometimes it’s stories of the beans, of the farmers, of dreams, of relationships.
I consider myself a bit of a storyteller. And I love hearing stories. That’s what this is really about: stories.
And so today, I thought I would share my
own coffee story.
Growing up, my parents never drank coffee. My dad still doesn’t drink it, while my mom will have a coffee drink from time to time.
But I vividly remember coffee as a child. When I was small, I spent quite a few of my weekends – possibly the majority of them – with either my grandparents or my great-grandparents. As the oldest of the grandkids and because we lived close by, I found myself there quite often.
I would often sleep over on Friday nights. It was fun to play games and watch TV together. We’d sometimes go out for ice cream in the evening. And when I was with my grandparents, I looked forward to the possibility of staying up with my grandfather and watching the monologue on the Johnny Carson show. I didn’t really understand what was so funny. But those few minutes sitting with him were special. I sat there, enjoying the sound of his laughter, and feeling quite grown up.
On Saturday morning, while my grandfather slept in, I would wake fairly early and tiptoe into the living room, where my grandmother would be sitting with her cup of coffee. And as became the norm, she would offer me a cup of my own.
I always accepted the offer. And I enjoyed my little cup of coffee. About 25% coffee, the rest milk, along with a nice big spoon of sugar.
The same happened when staying with my great-grandmother. And again, I always graciously accepted the offer for a cup.
And so began my interest in coffee. A meager start, but that’s how it began.
As with most things with which one has interest, my knowledge has increased over the years and my preferences have changed. And yet, almost every time I pick up a cup of coffee, I think back to that little cup: the foundation of my coffee story.