Coffee

My daughter Anna and I are the coffee drinkers and since she moved back home, it is our common bond. She bought me an auto-grind Cuisinart for my birthday and every night I clean it and load it for another day. She as the earlier riser gets to push the button.

The only debate concerns beans. She likes the Starbucks style – bordering on burnt – and I am slightly less intense on the matter. Recently I tried some new beans – too mild for her so we are using them up during the week and saving the Starbucks for the weekend.


Last night I came out to Anna. I have yet to figure an easy way – it always comes down to a declarative statement: I am Gay. All of the feints and moves cannot avoid the ultimate sentence. She listened, somewhat impassive, no tears, no anger: stunned I suppose. After I said my piece, Carrie and she went to Anna's room – the famed basement – to talk privately. The hour they were downstairs was an eternity for me – what were they saying, what was Anna thinking.


Finally they emerge and Anna sees me in the kitchen. She looks around the counter and asks where the Starbucks beans are: she says, with a wistful smile, she will need the Starbucks – the stronger beans - tomorrow. I tell her I know: they are already in the machine. We both smile.

And in that moment there was the comfort and knowledge of a lifetime. She is still my daughter and I her Dad. That will not change. And for that I am grateful.