Mom remembered how people liked their coffee, which regulars had lost their spouses, and whose children had recently graduated.
But what I remember most was her one unbreakable rule.
“Nobody leaves my section hungry, Frankie. Nobody.”
When I was twelve, I often sat at the counter doing homework while waiting for her shift to finish.
Sometimes a man would enter wearing worn-out shoes and carrying barely enough coins for a cup of coffee.
Mom would count his change, bring him soup, a sandwich, and something warm to drink, then quietly cover the difference using her tips.
One afternoon, I finally asked her why.
“Ma, we barely have enough money ourselves. Why are you paying for strangers?”
She stopped wiping the counter.
“Frankie, do you know what I see when someone like that walks through the door?”
I shrugged.
“Someone who doesn’t have money?”
She gave me a patient look.
“I see somebody’s child. Someone whose mother probably spent years worrying whether he had enough to eat. Maybe that mother isn’t around anymore. So for a little while, someone else needs to care.”
