My father loved ice cream, not
inordinately, merely a great deal. When I was a child, an ice cream cone was a
rare treat. My father never had a lot of discretionary cash in pocket. Times
were difficult for a factory laborer. Dad share his ice cream pleasure with
whomever was with him. One night Dad and I had walked uptown to St. Paul Street
for an ice cream cone, ten cents, two scoops. Two blocks away from the store I
was still savouring the remaining scoop when my dad, his cone already gone,
stopped, looked at me and said, "that tastes like more. What do you
think?" I responded as enthusiastically as I could to cover my surprise.
We turned and I hurriedly finished my cone. We arrived at the ice cream store
to a smiling ice cream shop owner. Dad said, "We will each have another
cone." As the years went by ice cream was increasingly present. My mother
worked at Avondale Dairy, which to everyone in the Niagara area was a go to
place for cones and sundaes and shakes. As grandchildren came along, he loved
to treat them. Following his death at age 93, my brother Murray suggested that his three sons and their families in Ontario and British Columbia, honour Dad’s birthday and memory each March 8th, with an Ice Cream
Cone Day. In B.C. the practice is dessert before main course, and with several tubs of flavours, as many cones as you like is the rule. Grandchildren who never met Dad, love him.