Elegy for a Coffee Shop
Soon after Tara and I moved to Shawnee, I began frequenting the Country Club Cafe. It is warm and inviting with friendly people, and the coffee and pastries are delicious—my idyllic space to read and write. The Country Club Cafe is occasionally my satellite office, but even more it is a haven, as it provides the right balance of quiet for my introvert side with a bit of bustle to feed my extrovert side.
Broadly, this description could apply to many coffee shops (and I do love exploring new ones while traveling). But my affection for the Country Club Cafe runs more deeply than any other coffee shop: 50-square feet of toys and games tucked in a corner for children to play. From the time Lydia and Grace were four and two, I could bring them along with me. For approximately an hour, I could read or write, just as I am doing now. They would sit for a while in the grown-up chairs and sip their hot chocolate. Then they would play by my side, while I enjoyed the nourishment of books and concentrated caffeine. I have a decade of pictures with my girls at Country Club that prompt joy-filled memories for all three of us.
As the years passed, my girls were soon joining me with their own stacks of books. My single hour of reading gave way to two or three. Bethany—the second owner during my time as a patron—added a couch, and my girls would lean against me as we contentedly devoured books and warm beverages. It was my hope that seeing my joy in reading would lead my daughters to the same bliss I find in books. I’m pleased to say that it has.
Today, I introduced my son to the Country Club Cafe. While Tara and Grace stayed home, Lydia read while Andrew played by our side. My own reading was cut short when Liz, a long-time staple of the cafe, told me that Country Club is closing before the end of the year. When we heard the news, Lydia looked at me with a sadness that I deeply shared. As is so often the case, things are seldom as permanent as we desire them to be.
It seems unfair that my son has finally reached the age when I can begin the same lessons I gave my girls, only to have such a beloved place close its doors. Yet as my wife is quick to point out, there is no national fairness law. So Bethany will look for a new location for her business, and my daughters and I will hope for another space to make new memories, preferably with Andrew sharing the experience.
The first time I remember Lydia toting her own books to the coffee shop, I realized how much the Country Club Cafe made itself available for teaching. Simply by offering a welcoming place for children, it made itself unique. For my own purposes, Lydia and Grace could watch me model taking pleasure from books. They could learn in a low-pressure setting how to speak quietly in a restaurant setting and respect the space and experience of others who were sharing a common time and place. They saw me meeting with friends and nurturing friendships through discussion and care. Most importantly, they saw and heard from me how much I loved simply being with them and hearing what they were thinking and learning.
I can’t help but think about how many other children in the community had similar experiences. I cannot count the number of parents who met at the Country Club Cafe with young children to have their own time together. Needless to say, this closure will be a loss to many. But rather than spend our time disappointed about lost future opportunities, we’ll hope to enjoy a few more visits to our cherished space while we still can.
An elegy in the classical sense is a poem or song of mourning—fitting for a funeral. So while these words are neither a poem nor a song, they are a heartfelt thanks and goodbye to a place that—through coffee and hot chocolate, cookies and cinnamon rolls, shared conversations and good books—helped shape my daughters and me for the better.
