If a coffee mug could speak, what would it say?

Illustrations by Esti Friedman Saposh

When I was nine years old, I stopped drinking coffee.

You’re probably wondering when I started. Good question — but that’s just how we were raised. Coffee was love, and my mother used to await us in the kitchen with steaming mugs every morning. We sipped the (sweet, obviously) brew still in pajamas, and only after the warmth seeped into our bones did we go get dressed and start the day.

We were very romantic like that.

We were also very short.

And although my sisters bragged that good things come in small packages, I preferred less goodness and a bigger package, thank you.

So I quit caffeine. (I also learned to sleep with my limbs stretched completely straight, to allow growth hormones to flow easily, another premise I subscribed to at age nine when I got a little phobic about growing up too good for my own good. I’m not telling any nine year olds what to do — drink all the coffee you please and sleep in a fetal position for all I care. But for the record, although nobody would call me tall, I am the tallest of all my sisters by several inches, so there.)

I didn’t indulge in another sip of coffee until my first baby came around, crying 25/8. At that point, I re-embraced the blessing of coffee with a hot vengeance. Besides, I’d probably stopped growing.

That’s when I discovered that despite the evils associated with caffeine, the brew holds so much depth. Coffee isn’t just a beverage. Every cup is special, a dear friend. Coffee is connection, a liquid that carries a world of meaning.

If a coffee mug could speak, what would it say?

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 804)