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When I was growing up in the 1950s, my friends Timmy and Tommy lived next door. One summer day, we were in their kitchen. Their mom was at work.
Timmy pulled open a drawer packed with candy bars. This was the first time I had seen anything like it. A kid’s dream comes true. There were Snickers, Milky Ways, Three Musketeers, and Baby Ruths. These guys, I thought as I walked through their backyard back to my house, could eat a candy bar anytime they wanted. My mom met me at the back door and reminded me it was a yard work day on Thursday.
And took away my Snickers. But didn’t find my Baby Ruth.
After Sunday Mass, sans my agnostic father, my family always went to Iowana Dairy for ice cream lunches. Our family of five would sit at the counter, each ordering an ice cream Sundae, Malt or Shake, or Banana Split.
What does ice cream mean to me today?
Controlled indulgence.
Aristotle’s Golden Mean.
