My Father was a black coffee man…
My Father was a black coffee man… My father drank his coffee black, no milk, never sugar and preferably with a cigarette as accompaniment. He drank his coffee copiously, unapologetically and regardless of time. It sort of sums up the kind of “no nonsense” guy he was.
Even when I worked with him landscaping we’d stop by the local convenience store, I’d want to lock myself in the freezer and mainline Gatorade, while he’d be drinking the piping hot, sludge like coffee that was always there, while chatting with his friends there who were playing the poker machines.
My father drank cheap coffee and smoked even cheaper cigarettes. I swear I clearly remember seeing him grab from a soft pack (he always bought the soft packs) that was nothing but a white package adorned only with the word “CIGARETTES” in a block typeface. He was a simple man who had no use for “brand” or artifice, he NEEDED his coffee and cigarettes but he cut every corner he could to help keep us above water, which was often an uphill struggle.
Again I remember these things and of course, miss him, especially since every day that passes my own experience as a father lets me understand him more. He was far from a perfect man, almost as fatally flawed as I, but god damn did he try. I just wish he lived long enough for me to show exactly how much I understand what he went through. It’s not like we had unfinished business when he died; he just deserved a few more pats on the back before he was gone.