I poured the dark, rich brew into a white China coffee mug and savored the aroma. Taking up a teaspoon, I removed the lid from the simple sugar bowl next to the new color 14-inch TV on the kitchen counter and loaded it with white granules of “Pure Cane” C&H brand sugar.
“What are you doing?” Mom asked. She paused from stirring something in a saucepan on the electric range. Spatula poised, she fixed on me.
I hesitated, held the spoon carefully to avoid spilling the sugar, and met her gaze. “Putting sugar in my coffee,” I replied, perplexed. This was not an advanced concept.
“Why are you doing that?”
The question was a little bizarre. Putting sugar in the coffee was not an unusual activity. It was like asking why the socks go on before the shoes. I answered plainly, confused. “To make it taste better.” I held the spoon steady, not yet committed to the black swirl.
“Don’t put sugar in your coffee.” It was a flat statement, not rude or overbearing, not angry. Just a simple suggestion with a hint of homespun common sense. Sort of like, Don’t walk through that neighborhood alone after dark.
I glanced at the sugar piled in the spoon. Nothing overboard yet. “Why not?”
She returned to her stirring. It was probably gravy. We had gravy on everything. “Because you don’t need it.”
To confront or surrender: That is the question
I remained still, considering whether to die on this hill. I tried a small objection. “Dad takes sugar in his coffee.”
She studied the sauce pan, scraping around the edges with the spatula as the contents began to burble. Definitely gravy. “You don’t need to do it just because your father does. Learn to drink it black.”
The coffee was cooling. Even at the tender age of 18 I had begun to enjoy a 5:00 PM coffee at the end of the workday, before supper. It was one of the few no-cost amenities afforded in the university dormitory, 200 miles away.
I carefully dumped the sugar back in the bowl and replaced the lid, took up the mug and tried a sip. I didn’t like it.
“What’s wrong with sugar?” My acquiescence removed the challenge from the question. There was rarely tension between Mom and me, and I wanted to keep it that way. It was only decades later that I belatedly came to appreciate how valuable this comfortable relationship was.
She turned off the burner and began transferring thick, lumpy brown gravy into a serving bowl, careful to miss no remnants in the saucepan. “You don’t need it, and life is easier without it.” She placed the saucepan and spatula in the sink and wiped her hands on her apron. “Just learn to drink it black,” she repeated.
“But it tastes better with sugar,” I objected again, took another sip and made a face.
Self-control makes the world go ‘round
Mom smiled and faced me. “You’ll get used to it.” She turned and began pulling dishes from cupboards, readying them for dinner. “Listen,” she said, back turned, “all your life, things will be easier if you take your coffee black. When you go to someone’s house, and your hostess offers you coffee, you can accept graciously.” Transferring the dishes to the kitchen table, she turned again to face me. “When she asks if you’d like cream or sugar, you can just say, ‘Black, please,’ and it will make her life a little easier.”
I studied the black liquid in my cup, swirled it as I remained standing on the other side of the counter. We were alone in the farmhouse kitchen, Dad still out in his shop. “The coffee at college tastes terrible. It’s not much better even with sugar.”
“And one of these days,” she continued as though I had said nothing, “you’ll be out of school, and you’ll get a job, and you’ll be flying on an airplane, and the stewardess will offer coffee. You’ll be sitting in a row with other people, and if you ask for sugar, she will have to offer a packet to you, and the others in the row will have to pass it over to you.” She paused her long speech and looked at me again. “It’s an inconvenience to them. Much simpler just to learn to drink it black.”
A large legacy from a small incident
In Mom’s advice, there was also an unmistakable air of Depression-era frugality: When she was child, sugar had been an absolute luxury. Grocery store trips had probably only occurred once a month, and involved a 24-mile round trip to town in an ancient Ford. It was a day-long event, and every item purchased with hoarded coins was precious.
And speaking of an earlier age, you might have to make an effort to get past the 1960’s language about a hostess and a stewardess. Just go with it. The principle here is timeless.
A lesson learned from the 1930s promoted not only thrift but also more cooperative relationships. Mom’s lesson was pretty clear to me: Make negligible personal sacrifices in order to offer small benefits to those who serve you; it is the essence of living peaceably in community with others.
Professional literature and personal experience
In 2014, a small troop of researchers from the Netherlands, according to their study published in Frontiers in Psychology, found that people with larger doses of self-control were more likely to be focused on positive human relationships. They are also “less prone to emotional distress engendered by such self-control trade-offs.”
Oddly, I have often reflected on this “Don’t put sugar in your coffee” conversation with Mom more than half a century ago. I have found that it has influenced my behavior on multiple occasions:
Do I clean out the sewage pump myself, or call a plumber?
Do I change the tire myself, or call Triple-A?
Do I install handrails on the front steps (which I rarely use), or require my guests to totter up to the front door as best they can?
Surprisingly, that short interchange with Mom is nothing short of legacy, passed on from one generation to the next. In many ways, I am who I am because of that day.
Legacy for those who follow after
For a period of time, I had the opportunity to teach a high school Sunday School class at church. The kids and I bonded as well as we could. Like most adults volunteering in a situation like this, I considered most of what I did failing attempts to influence young character.
On one occasion, years later, I found myself at the church coffee bar before service one Sunday. A young man, 10 years out of that high school class, was pouring his coffee. A quart container of rich and sweet cappuccino flavoring stood next to the coffee.
“You’re not adding the cappuccino?” I asked.
“Nope, never touch it,” he replied.
A pre-teen girl, helping herself to the hot chocolate, said, “Yuck! Why not? Straight coffee tastes terrible!”
The young man smiled and looked my way as he answered her. “Because Curt told me to learn to take my coffee black.”
“Why?” she asked with incredulity.
“Because,” he said, taking up the cheap Styrofoam cup, “it makes everybody’s life a little easier.”
Challenge Question
Consider a few people in your past whom you respect. What is one incident where you acquired a bit of wisdom that has shaped your behavior?
Download the Challenge Tracker to make your notes. At Your Best Retirement, we are building toward the No Regrets Retirement Action Plan. The subjects of these weekly Challenge Questions will be revisited in a workshop you will have the opportunity to attend.
Consider this week’s Challenge Question seriously and make your notes. Write it out. We are less about sharing information than seeing results. I would urge you to be intentional about identifying elements of your legacy, and developing the ability to communicate them.
Click the link below for the Challenge Tracker.
What does the Scripture say?
In honor give preference to one another. Do not set your mind on high things, but associate with the humble. Do not be wise in your own opinion. If it is possible, as much as depends on you, live peaceably with all men.
Romans 12 (NKJV)
Small investments of self-denial pay great dividends in bountiful relationships.
Likewise, small interactions with wise people are richly rewarded with a fruitful legacy.
I still take my coffee black.
For a nice touch, order your own custom-printed Alligator Wrestling coffee mug. Quoting Hebrews 5:13, it says “Milk is for babies.”
Thanks for following Your Best Retirement. Don’t forget to share the episode. See you next time!
Share this post