I’ve always discouraged being identified or introduced as “Arlo,” and would you blame me? Who could ever mistake me for a grouchy, silly, maudlin, impractical, procrastinating day-dreamer? I will admit, though, that Arlo and I have some things in common, such as this memory. My father used to do this, and I didn’t think a thing of it. Of course, I was a child, and the only normal I knew was what I had encountered in my short life. Now, drinking coffee out of a saucer seems weird. I don’t think my father was the only one to do it, but I can’t say I’ve seen it done anywhere else. Of course, saucers were common as fedoras then, and coffee was hot, often poured at the boil from a stove-top percolator. I would assume my father was in a hurry, but he always left an hour early for work, which was a five-minute drive away. “In case I have car trouble,” he always said, but I came to know that he cherished his nap in the parking lot before his shift began.