when i was a little boy, i always would watch my dad and grandpa sit at the kitchen table, stirring their coffee. i’d hear the metal spoons hitting the the inside of the pocelain mugs, a sound that still is so comforting today. i couldn’t wait until the day that i was allowed to drink coffee and be just like them. i would watch dad put his hand over the cup to feel the heat, then bring it up to his lips and before taking a sip, he’d just breathe in the scent, the warmth, like an actor on a folger’s commercial. to this day, i drink my coffee the same way poppy and dad did. and when i go to the plaka with my dad, we both order coffees, orange juice and toast. we drink, and dip, and sip, and i know how he felt when he would spend those moments with poppy. and i love it.
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