Coffee Shop

Day 19 – March SOLSC

Scoops on the Hudson was a cute little coffee shop/ice cream parlor in my village years and years ago.  When you walked in the front door, straight ahead were the ice cream freezers and to the left was a counter with chairs, pastries and donuts, coffee machines, and a little griddle for bacon, egg and cheese sandwiches.  It was a great place to stop by on the way to work for coffee and a donut!

My dad was a member of the early morning coffee club there.  He and a few of his buddies would meet there every single morning for coffee (and donuts!).  The owner, Frank, is actually the one who named them the coffee club.  Every day, my dad would get the newspaper and then walk next door to the coffee shop.  I was never part of this coffee club, so I have no idea what they talked about every morning.  I’m sure it was the happenings of our village, something about the fire department (my dad was the chief for many years), their families, and who knows what else.   I can just remember them all sitting around – laughing and talking.

When I came home from college and started teaching, I would stop there before hitting the road to work.  When you live in such a small village, everyone knows who you are (especially when your dad is the fire chief and coffee club member).  Every morning, when I walked in, my dad would spin around on his stool and smile.  Everyone would greet me with a “morning Jen, how are you?”  My dad would ask me how I doing and then what I had in store for the day.  He was always so excited to hear about my teaching adventures.

Since it was a regular stop for me, Frank knew how I took my coffee.  Sometimes, it was even waiting for me on the counter when I walked in!  I’d always take out my wallet to pay, and every day I’d get “dad already got it.”  I remember hugging him and saying “thank you daddy, see you later,” and off to work I’d go.

This coffee shop routine continued until I lost my dad.  I just couldn’t get myself to go in there anymore.  Each day, I’d drive by and look for him in the window, but all I saw was the rest of the coffee club – one member missing.  Finally, after a few weeks or maybe it was even months, I decided to go back in.  The coffee was really amazing – I was missing it and was ready.  When I walked in that morning, Frank gave me my coffee.  As I went into my purse to get my wallet, I looked at him and my face must have said what I was thinking.  He touched my hand that was on the counter and said “you don’t have to say anything.  I miss him too.”  He knew why I hadn’t been coming in.  I was able to avoid the place, but he kept coming to work every morning, hanging with the coffee club – one man missing.

The coffee shop is no longer there (it’s now a taco restaurant).  While I definitely miss the amazing coffee, it just didn’t taste the same once my dad was gone.

Thank you to Fran McCrackin for giving me the idea to expand on this Slice after reading my post 5 More Minutes.  


I’m participating in the March Slice of Life Story Challenge!  Thank you to the team of writers at Two Writing Teachers for this wonderful writing community.  A place for us to grow together as writers. 

8 thoughts on “Coffee Shop

  1. I lost my dad ten years ago. Since his passing, I have had trouble with several things that remind me of him. Like your coffee place, I have a tough time playing soccer. Soccer was my thing with my dad. He coached me from the sidelines and hardly ever missed a game. I played better when I heard his voice, not my coach’s. When you have a “thing” with a loved one, it is more than just that “thing” that you share. It’s the connection, the memories, the feelings, etc. I get it.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. I just titled my slice for tomorrow – Visions of a Coffee Drinker and then I opened my reader to see your slice Coffee Shop! Woo! What a beautiful slice! Love that you took the time to revisit the idea and revise the slice. Here’s the coffee shop and your Dad. Thanks for sharing!

    Liked by 1 person

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s