Old Men’s Coffee Club

Friendship isn’t about who you’ve known the longest. It’s about who sat with you when you needed it most… over a cup of coffee.” ~ Anonymous

I was a policeman way back when, in what now feels like another lifetome ago. Being on the early shift meant a necessary gallon or two of coffee. After a 2 or 3 AM night out with the boys, coffee waas the gas that kept my inner engine going. So it was always off to Mickey D’s to grab a cup, and an egg McMuffin if I felt I could hold it down. That’s when I first noticed the old men’s coffee club.

My thinking then…

“What a waste of time.”

“They probably need to get away from their old ladies.”

“Don’t they have anything else to do?”

“It’s gotta get boring doing that every day (or every week).”

“What a foolish way to start the day. . . sitting around yakking with a bunch of old farts.”

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Being in my thirtys and forties at the time, the fartherest thing from my mind was that those guys were likely really on to something:

• Like maybe they were enjoying themselves far more than I was enjoying myself.
• Like maybe they were far beyond just friendship, and had a sense of community among themselves.
• Like perhaps that little old men’s coffee club was really a lifeline of sorts for those in it.
• Like wondering if that little club gave some of the old guys a type of solid friendship they may have been missing all their lives.

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Nowadays

Time has caught up with me now.
I’m one of those old farts that now meets regularly with a few other old farts.
Though we haven’t named our little group, we meet.
Chances are, if we did name it, it would simply be generic like “Just Us Old Farts.”
Or maybe “Nos Chumpolones.” (That’s an insider one there.)

We’re a couple of old buddies (former cops from back in the day when I was their ‘Sarge’) and we get together fairly regularly for what we call Choir Practice.
That’s code for meeting up at a local pub early enough in the afternoon so we can get a booze snooze in before supper.
It’s usually skins, or wings, and, of course, some adult liquid beverages.
We often wonder, “Are we the last men standing?” as we review, and laugh at, some old cop tales that we dig up.
It doesn’t matter if some of those tales are on repeat in our minds. . . we never stop laughing like all hell is breaking loose.

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Romeo, oh romeo, where art thou?

One of the guys in choir practice regularly meets with some other men (just like the old men’s coffee club), but those guys have got it down!
They’re serious about their group.
Sure, they laugh, swap lies, exaggerate, and even speak truth once in a while.
But, along with that, they meet at a local restaurant, and yes, they eat.
May as well laugh on a full belly!

I love how they have dubbed the group.
It’s got a good ring to it, which makes it sound as if it might be rather exclusive. And who doesn’t enjoy a good acronym?
It’s the ROMEO Club.

Clever, I’d say.

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Maybe it’s time to start your own club

If you’re blessed enough to have a few old friends still around, or even some newer ones you don’t know all that well yet . . . maybe it’s time.
It doesn’t have to be formal.
It doesn’t have to be fancy.
It just has to be regular.

A little laughter, a little story-swapping, a little mischief (or a lot)
It might be just the thing your soul has been needing without you even realizing it.

Go ahead.
Start a ROMEO Club.
Start a Nos Chumpolones.
Start a “Just Us Old Farts” group.

Start something.

You’ll never regret it.

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“The best stories in life are never the ones we plan. They’re the ones we stumble into — with good friends, a full cup, and no hurry to leave.”