I watched my grandmother as she mixed her early morning drink in a cup before breakfast. I was beside her looking innocent as I stirred my chocolate drink. She had no idea my attention was on her cup; I was committing every teaspoon into memory. At the table, the aroma was arresting, unlike my boring chocolate mixture.
They all made it clear though, from my parents and my two grandmothers that I was not allowed to have that drink.
One lazy afternoon,the timing was just right. My parents and grandmothers were having their afternoon siesta and I refused to sleep. I hurriedly concocted the drink, just the way my grandma did step by step, until it was perfect.I sneaked under our round Narra table in the dining room, sipped sinfully from a yellow cup , which i chose because it was opaque and I could tell anyone who catches me that I’m simply drinking juice and get away with it.
The smell was a giveaway and I was stupid to hide under the table because it only meant that I was up to no good. I could have done a smoother approach. My mother caught me and confiscated my precious drink and dunk it into the sink before I could utter the monosyllabic word, “juice”.
She said I was too young to even have a teaspoon of it.
There goes my cup of coffee.
I wanted to bawl.
I was 6 years old.
I have my rights ya know.
They gave me my legal right to drink coffee when I was in high school.
I settled with Ovaltine, Milo, coffee caramel and Kopiko candy in between.
I call that delayed gratification. :-]