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facts & arguments

Nate Kitch

Facts & Arguments is a daily personal piece submitted by readers. Have a story to tell? See our guidelines at tgam.ca/essayguide.

Recently, I was asked to complete an assignment on what matters most to me.

It's funny how, when you're asked to answer a simple question such as this, you really can't think of anything. It's like when you go on a first date and one of the questions you're asked is, "So, what are your interests?" The first response I usually think of is Netflix – because, well, it takes up so much of my time and because it will lead into more conversation. Asking the interest question is such a conversation filler that I shudder when thinking of being asked it. If we go on a date, you are forewarned.

I racked my brain thinking of things that matter most to me. I poured myself a cup of coffee and got to thinking…

Coffee.

Coffee is what matters most to me.

There is something about a cup of coffee that instantly invigorates your senses. For me, the sweet scent of a flavoured coffee brewing is pure anticipation of the moment I'll be holding the warm mug on a frostbitten Maritime morning. It's how I start my day; it's part of my routine, and it's what matters most to me at 7 a.m.

I have discussed a wide range of topics over cups of coffee. I am sure everyone has. Over the past year, the coffee conversations I had helped bring to light something else that matters most to me – honesty. It was a value I'd always thought I embodied every day, but suddenly I realized that I hadn't. I was not being honest.

I scrambled to find a definition of honesty, to see if I was wrong. "Honourable in principles, intentions and actions; upright and fair," online dictionaries informed me. Another definition used the word "truthful."

It appeared I was not being an honest person. Crap, I thought. I'm living a lie.

Last summer in June, 2014, my mother came from St. John's to visit me in Halifax. This visit was different than her previous ones: She was also here to meet her daughter, whom she had not seen in more than three decades. The last time the two of them had been in the same room was when a nurse whisked the newborn baby away from my mother moments after she gave birth. And that was that: no contact since that moment. Heart wrenching.

I had only learned about all this the April before, when I received a phone call from my mother. "Let's have a long-distance cup of coffee and have a chat," she'd said.

With my favourite mug and some hot java, I was ready.

"What's up?" I asked.

Hesitantly, she replied: "When I was 17, I had a baby."

I can still hear those words resounding in my head. Not what I expected. However, I wasn't as blown away as my mother thought I would be. "Okay. Do they have Facebook?"

She was relieved with my dry joke. The question period began.

My mother had finally found the courage to be honest with me. It was something she had hidden for 23 years, and at last she'd decided the truth needed to be told. It was my turn.

There was something I had lied about in the past because I wasn't ready: It was time to tell her that I'm gay.

You know that lump in your throat you used to get when you were sent to the principal's office for talking too much in class? That lump returned after 13 years out of elementary school.

It was sitting there as I stirred milk into my coffee on an overcast morning last June, when my mother was in town. This time, it was more like a gargantuan boulder, heavy, solid and not going anywhere but the back of my throat.

"So, which one of your friends is coming to meet us?" my mother asked, sipping on her coffee.

"Uh, just a friend. You haven't met him before."

Boulder No. 2 formed.

"Is he your boyfriend?"

Boulders No. 3 through 9 instantly formed, and I almost spit out my coffee.

"Yes," I replied.

My mother reached across the table, squeezed my hand and said: "That's perfectly fine. Where should we go to dinner this evening?"

Honesty came in the shape of a wrecking ball that day, fuelled by warm coffee. Boulders and lumps disintegrated, coffee went down smoothly.

Hiding behind a wall to avoid something, that's easy. Being honest, while it can be challenging, tears that wall down. The feeling is euphoric.

Honesty, a value I believe should be practised every day, has shaped my perspectives on other situations because of these experiences over a cup of coffee, as cliché as that sounds.

That's why coffee matters most to me. It is my daily reminder to seize the day and be honest whenever, and wherever, possible.

Curtis Sutton lives in Halifax.

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