In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Practice Makes Perfect?.”

My Mom’s Streetcar Diner during World War II

I came on the scene prior to World War II, but by the first grade rationing was a way of life. Sugar, flour tires, gasoline, and yes, coffee were all on the list.

My mother owned the Streetcar Diner – two discarded Kansas City Street Cars attached side-to-side. It was open everyday, around the clock, even Christmas. Because of rationing coffee was a nickel for the first and second cup. A third cup cost a second nickel.

Coffee was a hot topic. No one offered their guests coffee. It was not uncommon for visitors to bring their own. I was listening to adults and their varied opinions on coffee, of course. At home, I began I demanded my share, and Mom, weary of my ranting – I suppose – finally gave in. I got my cup, but I’ve since wondered how diluted mine was.

That Christmas,1943, one of my uncles earned a furlough and came to our house. The first morning when breakfast was served, much to my horror I was served cocoa. I pitched a fit about being excluded.

My uncle who – looking back – was hardly more than a kid himself stopped me in my tracks.

“I’ll trade you,” he shouted, “we don’t get much cocoa in Germany. Before I could agree or disagree to his proposition he switched cups and began making loud slurping noises as he swelled my cocoa.

I’d been had.

I never complained about my cocoa again.

<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/practice-makes-perfect/”>Practice Makes Perfect?</a>