(Thank you for asking about my book signings. I’m just too busy, so it won’t happen this fall).
There was this great day when I was a high school English teacher. Many great days, but like this day, some were greater than others.
I was dragging on this day. Rainy, cold, wet, like today. I don’t remember the year, it was a long time ago, 15-20 years ago, because my twins were very young, and they were running me ragged. On this day, I remember a senior peeking his head into my room with his morning coffee to say hello to me as I was teaching, and I remarked how good it smelled. This was before Keurig machines in the teacher’s lounge.
“I’ll get you one next time,” he said.
“Do it, and you’ll get extra credit. That goes for the lot of you,” I gestured to my class. We laughed and moved on with the lesson.
The next day, throughout the day, at least twenty coffees were brought to me. Maybe more. One student even had his dad bring me a coffee to the office. I drank some of them, but obviously could not drink them all, so we delivered them to other teachers. I brought a couple of them home for my neighbors.
It stands out as one of the greatest days of my teaching career. What is it about someone bringing you coffee that renders you a blubbering sentimental fool?
Life is what it is.
(Note: I never write about current work. But this next story has to be recorded).
So on an innocuous day last month, I remember telling a class about this great coffee day I had, how touching it was that those students orchestrated something so grand. How I never forgot it, and how good coffee tastes when someone else brings it to you.
Ain’t that the truth?
Then a few weeks later I was on campus, accepting essays from all of my classes. Essay days are tiring days in my semester, filled with personal instruction and reminders, and editing, and revising, and constant back-and-forth monologue. I was tired, it was cold and rainy out, and coffee only a fleeting thought, and at least three hours away.
Suddenly I heard the door open behind me, and a Wawa coffee was plunked down in front of me. I turned to see one of my students, a tall personable young man who often comes in early to discuss literature. He said nothing, just flashed his million-dollar smile, accepted my thanks with grace, signed his essay in, smiled again, and left.
I watched him amble his way down the hallway clutching his own Wawa coffee, and sipped mine. It was possibly the best sip of coffee I have ever had in my life. And as I continued sipping, I tried to play it down.
It’s just coffee, it’s just coffee, it’s just coffee.
But I was a blubbering fool on the way home. Making coffee for someone, bringing coffee to someone, is the purest and sweetest and most selfless of gestures. So if someone brings you coffee this week, or makes some for you, be eternally grateful. It is one of the simple joys of life.
And yes, all of those students got extra credit.
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