Smooth and creamy, cold and dreamy--ice cream has been part of my life since I was a baby. If a childhood could have a theme song, mine would be: "I scream, you scream, we all scream for ice cream." I've watched the home movies of my well-meaning relatives cuddling me, feeding me ice cream, and trying to make me smile--it was all the same.
Ice cream was a major treat to me and my four siblings. If it was in the freezer, we children could only have it after dinner, and only if we behaved. What a treat it was to us, a symbol of love and affection, and a job well-done. My father doled it out in strict portion control. Although I'm embarrassed to admit it, I can even remember licking the bowl and then acting like I didn't get my serving to see if I could fool my father into giving me more.
Of course, my parents always made ice cream available for birthdays and other special celebrations, sealing it's association with all happy matters and occasions.
I spent many idyllic summers with an aunt and uncle in upstate Pennsylvania. They owned an inn, and ice cream was always in the freezer for customers. They weren't quite as controlling as my parents, of course, and I would stand on a milk crate and lean into the cold ice cream box to scoop out a special treat for myself.
When my uncle needed to go into town to buy liquor, he would take me along for the ride. If I behaved, we'd stop for a cone on the way back, so I always behaved. I can still see us driving along in his 1963 white Thunderbird convertible with red leather interior--a man and a little girl with hair flying--licking ice cream cones.
I scooped ice cream one summer on the boardwalk in Ocean City, Maryland. It was the summer of 1971, and I had just finished my first year of college. It was my first summer in another state, away from my parents, away from my aunt and uncle. I was growing up. I loved the ocean, I loved ice cream--what more could a girl want?
My boss trained me as a protege. She took a liking to me and started teaching me everything about the ice cream business. They made the ice cream right there on the premises. She would even send me to the bank to make deposits. She trusted me and confided in me, and I thought that was based on my honesty and integrity.
She taught me how to take the scooper and roll around the edge of the container, keeping the level of ice cream even. It was an art and I mastered it--scooping cones. I was a quick learner and quickly produced well-formed, perfectly sized cones. It was a dream job.
Then one day she told me she heard a rumor that I had been seen walking down the boardwalk one night, arm in arm with a "colored boy." Was that true she wanted to know? Not suspecting that my honesty on this subject wouldn't be appreciated along with my other virtues, I told her "Yes, it's true."
"This is the South," she told me. In retrospect, I think she expected me to lie, even wanted me to lie. After that, I couldn't do anything right and within a day I was fired.
I was bewildered when it happened and aware that it wasn't right. It could have even been illegal, but I didn't know how to do anything about it. Instead, it hurt me and made me cut myself off from meeting new people. I started putting my worse self forward, so no one would take a liking to me in the first place. I put up a shell and became difficult to know.
For many years I remained friends with the guy I got fired over. He was a kindred soul in many ways, and I was happy to have him as a companion. He loved something more than me though--alcohol. I chose him over ice cream but he chose alcohol over me. I'm not sure which was the more painful learning experience: alcoholism or prejudice.
Ice cream and I remained friends though, through thick and thin, literally and figuratively. I got another job scooping, working my way through college, making $1.75/hour. On slow nights, I got to study and eat ice cream. On busy nights, I got to scoop out happiness to others.
To read more stories, click Bucky's Story
Cinnamon and
Spice's Story
Bucky Tries
Chinese Herbs
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How I got Cleo is a whole other story!! Cleo's Story
To read a story about an absent-minded woman and her lost keys.
Read about recovering from depression.
Read about deep sea fishing in a Nor'Easter A Midsummer's Nightmare
Read about a fictional girl Lacey Santini
And read about The Invisible Diner