Ice Cream Cones

I was five. I loved coming to my dad's bakery with him. I would climb up on a stool in the corner and watch the dough being kneaded and cut into loaves ready for the giant ovens. While I breathed deeply the smells of baking bread that wafted from the ovens and filled the whole bakery I would eagerly anticipate the moment that my dad would offer me a slice of the warm bread with a dab of butter. The smells, tastes, and sounds of the bakery are still clear in my mind 30 years later, but they are not what made the bakery a special place to me. I loved watching my dad at work, but most of all, I loved the little stories and lessons he took time to share with me throughout my bakery visit.

This week, I was reminded of a particular day at the bakery those many years ago. My daughter has been having trouble with her numbers. She loves letters and words and the books that hold them, but numbers are currently not a favorite. Ice cream, however, is always a favorite and so I reached back to a day long ago when another 5 year old took special interest in numbers only because of her love for ice cream. I too was (and sadly am) fond of ice cream. I remember one particular day at the bakery I sat in the big window and stared off in space across the street and beyond to where children were surely enjoying the park that held the wading pool that I longed to splash through on that hot summer day and the ice cream man with his coveted cones filled with that cold soft ice cream. Amidst the smells of warming breads and pastries I was discouraged. I wanted that cone so badly I could taste it, but 20 was unfathomable to me. If I could count to 20 by the end of the day, my dad promised me whatever flavor and cone I chose- all for myself. I sat there discouraged while my dad worked quietly in the background waiting for me to begin to count again. I remember getting to 12 was easy, but after that they all sounded alike and I thought I would never get them right. How was I ever going to remember the correct order. I would goof up and dad would patiently repeat them to me once more.

I sat there feeling bewildered at the task, much like a certain 5 year old did just the other day. Twelve, 14, 17, 18, 19, 20...Sigh...No, she knew that wasn't it. Gracie looked at me with a flustered discouraged look. I picked up the flash cards again and we went through it once more. Just a few numbers at a time. I sat there half in the present and half in the past.

Twenty in one day? This seems a little tough, I know, but Dad never came across to us in a tough manner. He was sure we could do it. He knew we could. Nathaniel had to learn to swim in a day and I would learn to count to twenty that day. So, I kept at it all day. It was a long long day for a 5 year old who didn't have the same confidence in her abilities as her dad. What I did have was a stubbornness to succeed (much like another little girl I know). So, I sat there. I did it over and over and over again, goofing up each time. The day was nearing to a close and I still hadn't achieved the goal. I can remember the moment it finally happened. My dad was cleaning and I tried once again while looking out the window across the street. Then, it just clicked in my mind. It made sense and I counted all the way to twenty. I was so excited that I had finally done it. Surprised. Dad wasn't as surprised. He knew I could do it and he had patiently helped me all day until I realized it as well. He said he thought it was time for that ice cream cone. So, off we went walking through the park to get our ice cream cones. It never tasted so cold and delicious and perfect, but like every time in my childhood, my dad helped me finish it off licking the "drips" and evening out the sides.

My mind returned to the little 5 year old struggling to comprehend the difference between 13 and 14. I smiled and said, "let's make an icecream cone with 20 scoops of icecream!" Her little eyes lit up. She was interested in that kind of 20. I made a deal. With every number she knew we would add a scoop to our icecream cones that we made out of paper. And, as soon as she had 20 scoops on her cone we would go on our own ice cream cone date. She was almost sold, but had one question, "can my ice cream be pistachio?"

And then, "Can I have it all to myself? No help?" I guess the apple really doesn't fall far from the tree.