My Caffeine RoutinePosted by admin on July 23rd, 2009
I cannot remember a time when I didn’t drink loads of coffee. Mostly strong, black coffee.
Even at a very young age, coffee equaled comfort for me. My emotional addiction began with the aroma. I awoke to it every day throughout my childhood, and it often met me after school or wafted into my bedroom in the early evening hours. My mom (and her entire extended family) is to blame for that. She would make coffee at night so the only task that remained for the morning was to push the button; it would be ready by the time breakfast was. A testament to her commitment to the coffee-loving lifestyle is the fact that my dad once bought her a professional Bunn coffee maker — the one with two filters and two warmers. Hot water was a flick away.
My brother and I used to be truly excited when, at age 4 or 5, we were allowed to have a few sips. Other kids’ treats were cookies or candy…ours was black coffee.
By the time I was in middle school, my mom and I were afternoon regulars at the neighborhood Starbucks. Some of the best memories of my life were during those years, when I had my mom all to myself (only on occasion sharing her with her friends). We discovered the perfect amount of hazelnut syrup to add to a soy latte, and ordered it extra hot. For awhile, we had designated mugs with our names on them so we didn’t have to worry about wasting to-go cups.
Those $4 drinks were more than indulgences or mental stimulants. They symbolized to me the kind of connection that can happen nowhere else but in a jazz-filled room littered with newspapers and laptops. I learned about social capital by observing the way that humans bond over several cups of java and a couple chocolate biscotti.
The coffee continued to pour its way through my body and drip along my life’s path. In high school, I stopped at 711 almost every morning and bought huge cups of coffee for myself and my coffee buddy in first period. I mentioned Starbucks more than once in my valedictorian speech. The first thing I bought for my dorm room was a four-cup coffee maker. The only thing I wasted euros on when I studied in Venice was an espresso at every cafe I could find. And with every trip to the grocery, I sink deeper into the search for the perfect whole bean coffee.
I am not alone in my caffeine routine, but I don’t know too many others for whom coffee offers more than a jolt at an early hour. I am not a grouch without it — I just feel incredibly vacant.
Instead of scaring my son with the grinder, I am eager to show him the magical intricacies of coffee, the drink, and coffee, the companion. Unfortunately, one year old is even too young in my book.
P.S. – None of the myths about caffeine and kids are true. My brother and I are both free of attention disorders and much taller than average.
