A song comes to mind this morning, as I heat up the mug in the microwave. I am not sure why I remember this song from so long ago, when I was no more than 7 years old. One of my sisters, 4 years older, was in the 5th grade chorus at Hamilton Elementary School. The group sang this song during their Winter show. I remember going that cold night and sitting all snug and warm between both of my parents. That was unusual; Dad traveled for work and missed a lot of these events. The chorus performed for quite a while. Of all the pieces they presented, the only one I remember is this little ditty:
Coffee is Not for Me
Coffee is not for me.
It’s a drink some people wake up with.
That it makes them nervous is no myth.
Slaves to a coffee cup.
They can’t give coffee up!
I remember smiling throughout the entire piece, done in round, and the crowd erupting in applause at the end of the song. We talked about this one on the way home from the concert that night, too.
I asked my sister a few years ago if she remembered that concert from more than 40 years ago, and especially whether she remembered the song. Since she had no recollection, I sang it for her. Still Nothing. Unless you include that you-are-kidding-me look she tossed my way.
It’s funny the little things we remember from different moments of our lives. I went to Catholic schools, and never had the opportunity to sing in a chorus. Isn’t it curious, then, that I remember this from so long ago…
There is a special something about this. Perhaps the sense of pride I surely felt watching my sister up on stage with her classmates. No easy feat for someone with CP at that time. Or the sense of pride I could feel coming from my parents. Perhaps it’s that, to this day, the smell of coffee takes me back to another place and time.
A comfortable place.
A loving place.
A warm and snug place…
Thanks, Andrew, for the memories…
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