I've been drinking coffee since I was around two years old. My Appalachian grandad, Papa (pronounced Paw-Paw), would scoop me up to sit on his overall-covered lap and spoon feed me sips of coffee (probably Folgers) doctored with heaps of cream and sugar. Consequently, for as long as I can remember I've always craved the stuff.
When I started walking, Papa gave me the nickname "Buckshot" with the reasoning that I was so energetic that I seemed to be in twelve different places at once like a spread of buckshot flying in every direction. My energetic activity came as a surprise to no one, given that he was "sneaking" my wobbly little toddler body enough caffeine to power a grown man.
As I grew, the spoons evolved into small oz pours, then small pours became half cups, and by the time I was 8 I could have a full cup of coffee with breakfast whenever I was with Papa. Coffee, for me, has always been precious. But it hasn't always been about tasting notes and brewing technique. It’s been about presence, showing up to the table, and being trusted with something typically reserved.
To my caffeine-craving chagrin, we lived four states away from most of the family, so I really only got to taste coffee a few times a year. At some point my parents decided I was old enough to have coffee on other special occasions, like road trips where I would excitedly peer out the window looking across the interstate for the bright yellow squares with black script shining brighter than the morning dawn or cutting through the night, beckoning the weary traveler to stay awhile at “WAFFLE HOUSE.”
I yearned for the vinyl booths, for the countertops worn smooth by elbows and time, for those thick ceramic mugs that felt indestructible in your hand. It wasn’t just the sound of a jukebox playing Motown that was music to my ears, but the accompanying dull clatter of an open kitchen where a voice would occasionally pierce clearly over the hum of conversation with a clear “Order up!” These were all touch points that grounded that road trip pit-stop meal of grits, hashbrowns, buttery waffles, and of course, coffee.
That’s why diner mugs are still my favorite. They fit perfectly in your hand. They don’t tip. They don’t beg for attention. They sit commanding on a desk, resolute on a worksite, and unassuming at the breakfast table. They’re honest objects. Tools, really. Made to be used daily and replaced only when they finally give up, maybe even after long decades of regular use.
So when it came time to release CREDO’s first merch item with our new look, it absolutely had to be a diner mug. It’s a piece of tangible nostalgia that takes us back to a perceived simpler time, but we’re not chasing nostalgia for nostalgia’s sake. At CREDO, we reach into the past to find our bearings and gain continuity with those who brought us into this moment. We are faithful to those things which deserve our faith and abandon those things which no longer serve us. Because the world is not yet what it ought to be. But it can be, if work together to build for a better tomorrow.
Fill this mug with CREDO Coffee. Take that first sip and think about the first time that you had coffee. Remember that coffee is something that always accompanies life as it actually happens; early mornings, long days, quiet moments, and loud ones too.
The CREDO Diner Mug is as classic and dependable as they come.
Like Papa was. Like a late-night Waffle House pit stop always has been. Like good coffee always will be.
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