True Story

Coffee: Extra, extra light, extra, extra sweet.

My mother and I would rise before the sun woke up and as the stars were starting to nod and drift off to bed. Every morning our task was deliver The Star Ledger in one of the safest and wealthiest locations in New Jersey. With sweat pants and a coat I hopped in the passenger’s side of the car and slept until we arrived at the location to pick up the news in black and white (and in color on Sundays because of the circulars and funnies). Once she put the car in park I instantly woke up ready to work. I moved to the backseat and hung my yellow plastic bags. My mother would dash back to the car with our prize, bundles of newspapers. She'd pop the strings and I'd go to work. My job was to fold, bag, and toss the finished product to the front seat so my mom could toss them out of the window and onto the front lawns of the customers. I loved to fold the papers except for Thursdays and Sundays, they're always the hardest.

Sun, rain, or blizzard, we were always up bright and early. The only things that would catch us up that early were deer or renegade skunks. One time my mother overshot the paper into our customer's neighbor's yard (which happens often). I'd get out of the car and correct her error by walking the paper to the customer's walkway. In this one case, my mother threw one into the bushes. I got out of the car as usual and reclaimed the paper. I took a whiff of the early morning air, and to my surprise it was foul. One can make jokes about Jersey's air, but this time something was really wrong. I turned around and I saw the thing that was making the funk. Pepe le Pew and I were making eye contact. I ran for my life (in Sweet Brown's voice). I laughed when I got away. 

After sneaking in and out of Westfield, undetected by the upper-class, we'd stop by the QuickStop (before the sign was that icky yellow). I would grab a Tastykakes Butterscotch Krimpet or a Koffee Kake Junior. My mother always ordered coffee: Extra, extra light, extra, extra sweet. Sundays we'd go to Dunkin’ Donuts. I'd get a coffee cake or banana nut muffin and vanilla or banana Nesquik. My mother stuck with her coffee and I'd always steal sips of her large cup of milk, sugar, and hint of coffee.

To this day she and I both drink our coffee this way. My husband asked me why. I told him it portrays my upbeat carefree personality. He rolled his eyes and made a sly comment about it relating to my light skin color. But, really, I drink it because it reminds me of the time I spent with my mother on our news paper route. It reminds me of our conversations and touring the wealthy neighborhood. This is how she kept me close.