sunday mornings my daddy and i would get up early before mom and the buttnugget and go to church together. we always sat in the “cry room” because it was surprisingly quiet and out of the way. far less crowded.
after church, we’d head over to the copper kitchen on colorado ave. that early it’d be surprisingly busy because of all the truckers and whatnot. but john, the owner, would always greet us with a way-too-cheerful “hello there!” and twist his moustache. he’d always joke good-naturedly with my daddy and have something nice to say to me. such a charmer for such an old dude, but genuine, which is a rare quality. all the waitresses at the copper have known us for years; hell, our favorite has known me since i was the buttnugget’s age. ridiculous, right?
so every time we walk in, daddy looks at the specials and i get ‘the usual’. i don’t even have to say what i want, they just know, it’s great. the only thing that’s changed in all these years of sunday morning breakfasts at the copper is now i get coffee, too. daddy gets cream, and i get mine black with an unholy amount of sugar.
no matter how long i’m away from colorado, every time i walk into the copper they know my order and how i like it. they remember my face and my family. it’s a really nice feeling. and it’s something just for my daddy and me. sure, we go with the whole family occasionally; and i have officially been there once for “non-breakfast”…but those sunday morning breakfasts together, just the two of us…
those were the best.
they really were.
…i don’t think i can ever go there again…
