Ice Cream in June
as an ode to my father for father's day, here is a piece I wrote a few days ago
It is hot and muggy outside today, the first day of June that really feels like summer. It is on days like this that it is easy to forget the harsh, frozen winter we endured just months ago. First there were days where just seeing green for a moment beneath the snow banks allowed me to breathe a little easier, and brightened my mood. Then there were the days when my skin prickled beneath my puffy winter jacket, and I was brave enough to shed a layer in the frigid air. And we had days where the spring chill turned hot, faster than anyone expected but the same time of year all the same. Now come the unexpected humid days that feel like August and end in thunderstorms.
I am sitting in the office on my computer after work, already in my pajamas, and my dad walks in. He sits down slowly in the chair across from me, watching me type. He has just made raviolis for dinner after visiting a friend in the hospital. He repeats over and over again that he hates hospitals. We both do.
“You know, I could really go for some soft serve ice cream right now,” he says slyly with a smile, gauging my reaction.
“Oh, really,” I say, his smile contagious. I have been trying to eat well lately; after running a half marathon a few months ago, I have allowed myself to be swallowed into the 9-5 routine, neglecting exercise and diet in the process.
“Just saying,” he says as he rises swiftly and floats into the other room. I roll my eyes; he needs me to say that I truly want to go before he can suggest that we really should.
“We can go, if you want. It’s super hot out,” I concede, and shut my laptop half way.
“No, no, it’s okay,” he says. He isn’t making this easy.
“I said we can go! Just let me finish this one thing.”
A half hour later we are in the car, AC blasting, on the way to Ryan’s Ice Cream. Our neighborhood is a ghost town, families staying inside because of the heat or having already taken off for a long weekend. But when we pull up to Ryan’s, almost every spot in the small lot is taken. Ryan’s is your typical local homemade ice cream parlor; it used to be cash only, and it is empty half of the year but still open every day. But on a humid night like tonight, the line is out the door. We wait patiently behind a group of baseball players and a few families. My dad is practically giddy with excitement.
“Should I get a kiddie cup or a small?” I say, knowing that I’m leaning towards former and my dad will convince me otherwise.
“Are you kidding? Get a small!” My dad exclaims. “I never get ice cream anymore, I’m so excited! Should I get an ice cream soda or just plain soft serve?”
His smile makes me light up inside; his happy mood always rubs off on me. I convince him to get a soda because he never does; plus, he is too healthy nowadays. “Live a little! Everything in moderation!” I say.
More waiting. The small child in front of me tries almost every flavor in the parlor while his mom stands awkwardly to the side. Finally, it is our turn. I settle on a small Chocolate Peanut Butter Crunch and my dad on a large Pepsi float with chocolate soft serve. His eyes shine as they hand him his cup, and he makes it hard not to smile at his genuinity.
I eye my cup, my mouth watering. “Mom was the Vanilla Queen, and you are the Chocolate and Peanut Butter King. Your genes definitely won out,” I say, scooping a large heaping spoon of chocolate into my mouth as we check out.
We mosey out to the bench right in front of the parlor, painted blue, which is mostly chipped now. Even though it’s sticky out here and God only knows how many children have touched this bench today, we sit in the thick, humid air, scooping pepsi and chocolate into our mouths, only slowed down by brain freeze. The cars whiz by on Shrewsbury Ave as we eat, listen to the summer sounds. We watch cars roll in and park in the lot and others leave, overhear funny conversations, swat the flying bugs that are just starting to emerge from their winter slumber.
Even though I am still full from dinner, and even though we will talk about how bloated we feel for days, I will never turn down ice cream with my father. Getting ice cream is one of our love languages, trading sugar for time spent. The minutes feel slower on that bench, calmed by a lack of responsibility and the relief of the cold on my teeth. I put my head on my father’s shoulder, say “I love you,” and of course, he says, “I love you more,” and at that moment I’m not sure anyone will ever love me as much as him. As much as both my parents have. In that moment, I am the most loved girl in the universe.
Happy Father’s Day, dad. And Happy Father’s Day to all the dads out there! And thinking of those who have a complicated or difficult relationship with Father’s Day. Sending love!
This is so sweet! And I just got a root beer float with my father on Saturday. What is it with dads and ice cream? Ryan's is delicious! Can't wait for their Jersey peach ice cream.