C is for Coffee

C is for Coffee

I used to be a smoker. Started, in secret, in the 8^th grade. I like to think it was because I’m of Irish decent and that I’m just genetically predisposed to addictive behavior, even at that young age. I see that I’m addicted to food, as is my mother. The difficulty with that is that you actually do need to eat, so quitting is a bit drastic. But smoking? You don’t actually need that. Or alcohol. Like many in my family, hitting the sauce is evident.

But the fact was, it was sheer stupidity.

Perhaps another addiction, if you will.

And I replaced the smoking.

With coffee. 

That's not really coffee, there, that's a mug, get it? But...oh..nevermind.

Coffee had been with me for sometime by this point. Yeah, there's a story in this. 

My father-

wait, did I actually say my father? This has been a bone of contention for me, especially as of late. As many people finally come to Florida to visit me, many of my biological father's family has been stopping by. I refer to my stepdad as "dad."  This screws everyone up, because, for so long, as a schmuckworthy teenager, I refused to acknowledge him. 

Of course, I also refused to acknowledge I was teenager at the time.

But my "real" dad's family keeps getting confused. Since the man I refer to as my "dad" is really my stepdad. He's the one who has been there most of my life. 

He looks nothing like me, so that's pretty evident. Many comments were made that I was related to the milkman or the mailman in college. 

So my STEP father didn't have the luxury of growing up with me and he didn't know the first thing about handling teens. He offered me coffee when I was 17 and my world changed. Now, you have to understand this. This was not a man I spoke with AT ALL. Fuck him. He married Ma when I was 12 and I didn't know him then. I wasn't into his world of cars and Denver Broncos. Or anything of that ilk. I just wanted to emo before emo was emo.

Ya know, like totally emo. 

And coffee was so totally emo. 

And he introduced it to me. 

Now, here's the catch--my stepdad was furthered distanced by the fact that I am a raging queer. Now, stop working with those stereotypes. Raging queer doesn't mean I was a screaming queen. It meant that I had that latent paranoia coming out of the closet brings forth; I figured he hated me because I was what I was.

And then there was coffee. (sidenote: he didn't hate me. I realize this now...)

Understand, this is like dinosaur times; like older than dirt's grandparents. But a Starbuck's opened in Boulder and downtown Denver. My stepdad asked me something that changed both of our lives.

And a church was born....

"You want to go and get coffee? Try out this new place?"

The world changed. Coffee was the gateway of our relationship. First? When he first asked? I shuttered. I figured, well, fuck, I'm going to have to talk to the old bastard for a few minutes and raging emo queer doesn't do conversations with parental units. 

Coffee is a gateway drug, and, luckily, is fully satisifying. THe pull of the bitter taste was much, much stronger than dealing with my stepfather. I was hooked. 

I could finally find a level playing field with my dad. We could have coffee. He'd go shopping and buy different flavors and ask for me to taste. He bought me a coffeemaker to go away to college with; he got me a cappuccino maker when I returned. We had lessens in the kitchen. We go to independent coffee roasters and see what the deal was. 

No, I still couldn't stand him, but, for some reason, through the haze of coffee, he seemed like a nice guy. I later realized that coffee mellowed us enough to be friends.

Coffee had improved my life. Sure, there was that thing about waking you up and stuff, but, yes, there are other benefits-one has only to look.

Why now? I think these blog topics are fascinating right now.  It's like crap I have to deal with or something. But my dad was just here, HERE, in my brand new house in Florida. And he made me coffee every morning. Not me making for my micro family, but him. Glorious Gloria Jean's. Starbuck's next sinful delight.  Tully's sexy aroma in my new home's kitchen. 

It must have been on my mind.

So? Do you have a favorite to imbibe? I'll say, given a choice of coffee or wine? I'll probably choose coffee. Go figure.

Peace,

Bardy Roo