Things to be Thankful For: Medicine Coffee

“Give me something that looks nice that I can run in,” I’d said to the salesman at Hawley Lane Shoes. And he did. I had just learned that we had been awarded a four-year grant to strengthen the academic skills of lively but less-than-focused high school students. These students needed to know that if they stayed in drift mode in high school, they would probably flunk out of college, including the community college. Underprepared students were NCC’s biggest problem.

Of course, just telling them that, shaking a finger at them, would have no effect. Instead, we spent every Saturday during the school year and all summer with them for the four years following their 8^th grade graduation. Feeding them, listening to them, offering enrichment courses, helping with homework, feeding them some more. After a year or two, they would stop chewing for a moment and listen to us. When a young student showed up one day grinning and waving her report card, I knew we’d gotten somewhere.

My problem was that I was in my early sixties and slowing down energy-wise. And I had family responsibilities. My daughter worked in Manhattan, so I or my husband picked up our granddaughter from the after-school program every day. Though we adults do our best to hide problems from the little ones, we all know it never works. Our NCC program made a difference, but it wore me out. Big time.

One day my granddaughter appeared in the doorway of my office at home and offered to take my order. I knew to play along. We had a number of imaginary dealings; some were quite serious. This was a new one, but what to order?  

“Is this a diner or a fancy restaurant?” I asked.

“Diner,” came the answer from the 7-year-old with a scratch pad. She and her mom often took advantage of cheap and easy eats at such establishments.

“What’s the name of this diner?” I inquired.

There was a moment of silence. I could see the wheels turning.

“Couchie’s,” she announced.

“Couchie’s?” I couldn’t help asking.

Then it sank in. This was a very, very comfortable diner, catering especially to the occasional grandmother on antibiotics with yet another sinus infection.

I ordered scrambled eggs, bacon and toast. And coffee–lots of it. In a few minutes, she was back, carefully sliding a frisbee and a plastic knife and fork onto my desk.

“And here is your coffee,” she said in her pipsqueak voice, setting an empty mug next to the frisbee.

“Medicine coffee,” she announced, as solemnly as a seven-year-old can sound.

“Medicine coffee,” I sighed, “exactly what I need!”

On this Thanksgiving, a round of medicine coffee to all teachers, counselors, parents, grandparents, essential workers, and everyone in health care, and for anyone else who truly needs it!