Memory is a strange thing, unreliable even when it isn't (as mine is) getting a little creaky with age. William James was right - we remember what we remember remembering, or (mis)remember (mis)rembering.
Today I had lunch with a boy from San Francisco, soon to be eighteen, on a college tour with his father. The fun part was that his father was someone I grew up with - and we haven't seen or been in touch with each other since we were the boy's age! Much territory was covered as the father and I caught up, but the boy held his own.
After lunch I asked if he was a coffee drinker; he was - "I'm up to about eleven cups a day!" he said with something like pride - so we repaired to the irresistibly atmospheric Caffe Reggio. He loved it, could already see himself as a student hanging out there with his friends. But, he informed me with a knowing smile, he'd heard that in Italy coffee isn't served in caffes; it is served at bars. A world of worldliness awaits!
How long have you been a coffee drinker, I asked? Maybe since seventh grade, he said. And then my memory started skittering out of control. When did I first drink coffee? I've been telling people (and telling myself) for years that it was in college; indeed, that it was instant coffee made for me by a famous theologian at Oxford. The Nescafé chez Rowan Williams is true (I even remember the brown mug) but in the presence of this very young coffee afficionado I remembered that I was drinking coffee when I was his age too... if you can call General Foods International Coffees coffee! I thought I was terribly sophisticated. And didn't know for coffee: I drank it before bed, nobody having told me it would keep me up. (It didn't, perhaps because it was barely coffee!)
After lunch I asked if he was a coffee drinker; he was - "I'm up to about eleven cups a day!" he said with something like pride - so we repaired to the irresistibly atmospheric Caffe Reggio. He loved it, could already see himself as a student hanging out there with his friends. But, he informed me with a knowing smile, he'd heard that in Italy coffee isn't served in caffes; it is served at bars. A world of worldliness awaits!
How long have you been a coffee drinker, I asked? Maybe since seventh grade, he said. And then my memory started skittering out of control. When did I first drink coffee? I've been telling people (and telling myself) for years that it was in college; indeed, that it was instant coffee made for me by a famous theologian at Oxford. The Nescafé chez Rowan Williams is true (I even remember the brown mug) but in the presence of this very young coffee afficionado I remembered that I was drinking coffee when I was his age too... if you can call General Foods International Coffees coffee! I thought I was terribly sophisticated. And didn't know for coffee: I drank it before bed, nobody having told me it would keep me up. (It didn't, perhaps because it was barely coffee!)
