©2017 Bill Murphy
Coffee is one of those strange brews. (Pardon the pun.) It goes beyond take it or leave it – bordering on either can’t stand the stuff, or can’t live without it. I fall in the later category. I once told a pastor that if he ever started preaching against coffee – I would find a new church.
Coffee and I go way back, almost 74 years to be exact. My grandmother, whom I was blessed to have live next door, started me on coffee as soon as I was old enough to walk next door to her house. Mom said I walked at 18 months.
Grandma Fairchild drank Folger’s. It came in squatty round tin cans, that came with a ‘key’ (much like a sardine can) which you turned to unfasten the lid from the can. I remember these details because as a boy of 10 or so, I put a firecracker under one of those Folger’s cans with the intent of shooting it into the clouds. Mama Fairchild, probably no more than 20 feet away, was bending over pruning her flowers. The can didn’t go up – it went straight into Grandma’s butt. Oh well. She still loved me afterwards.
Carol and I have a married granddaughter, Whitney, who as a child traveled a lot with her Grammie and Pop Pop. At restaurants, Carol and I would have coffee mornings, noon, and night. When Whitney was no more than 2, I started her on coffee, served just as it was served to me as a child, with a liberal lacing of sugar and cream. Whitney enjoyed drinking hers from those tiny little plastic creamer cups. I felt not the slightest sense of remorse for giving that baby that ole devil-brew.
Every so often you hear of some government study which proves coffee causes everything from dandruff to multiple births. Then a few months later they claim it cures everything from ED to toe fungus. Those claims are like my old neck-ties – keep ‘em around long enough and they’ll be back in style. I’ll drink to that! Coffee – please.