Cold Coffee (I miss my Daddy)
Cold Coffee reminds me of the more endearing qualities of my father. His early mornings were grumpy, but real. He was real before work. And when he would leave, I would sit in his chair and drink what was left of his cold coffee and pretend that I got to spend more time with him that way. He loved me when he was sober, but someone else always came home at night. He was someone that was heavily burdened by the ways of the world and the pressures of … well… everything. I have no idea what caused my father to drink so much because he started before I knew the difference between my toes and my fingers. This was quite a long love life with booze, a sentence of 20-25.
The more time I spend in the “real world” the less I value myself. I am not worth what I was years ago, but I was a screw up back then, just had a skinny ass is all. I thought it was big then. Wonder the massive expansions waiting for me in the near future… Will I look back on today wistfully, dreamily as though it weren’t as painfully draining and tiresome as it feels today? It is almost certain that I am that type of fool. I will look on today fondly as though it were the “good old days”.
It’s funny how I can look back at my childhood as some wondrous time. I wonder how I can look back and only see the few minutes a day when my father was my daddy and he loved me more then any. The largest portion was actually quite painful, for a childhood.
To be honest, I don’t remember much about those mornings with my dad. I only remember the taste of cold coffee fondly.
