Today is the day I always think of my grandmother.
Sure, it's the anniversary of my birth, but more importantly, it's the anniversary of the day I drank my first cup of coffee.
After years of sneaking sweetened spoonfuls to me when no one was looking (moonshine came later), my grandmother announced during dinner, a few weeks before my 11th birthday, that 'she was going to start letting me drink coffee when I turned 11'.
"All this talk about coffee stunting your growth!" she continued, "Humph! Look at her! She's tall enough already. A little coffee ain't gonna hurt her."
I held my breath and kept my eyes pinned to the table; not daring to look at my mother, waiting for an eruption⎯ and then... nothing. It was blessed silence.
A few moments later, normal dinner conversation resumed. I looked up and met my grandmother's eyes; she winked... I grinned..., and then started looking toward my birthday with added anticipation.
To this day, I still drink my coffee exactly the way my grandmother first served it to me: strong enough to melt the paint off a wall, with a little cream and two sugars.
It's odd. The moments you remember. I can't recall the exact day I learned to drive, started my first job, or lost my virginity... but I remember my first cup of coffee.
Here's to Grandma... I miss you.
Love,
Tess
