Children live for the small things in life. They dwell in the glory of the things that “grown-ups” often overlook in their hustle and bustle of being too busy to notice anything. As a six year old I awaited the day that my father would come to pick me up with one of his “ideas”. We would be on the way home from summer camp and he would say, “Ooh, I have an idea.” I guess he didn’t think that I figured out his “idea” after the first three times the same light bulb shone.
We would walk into Publix, my small white hand engulfed by the giant-like olive-toned hand of my father. We head straight to aisle 2 on the far left side of the store where I feel the coolness coming from the freezers and hitting my bare legs and arms. Past the baking aisle, past the cleaning supplies, past the chips and finally, its just on the other side of the aisle with all of the beer, the ice cream aisle.
We finally come to the spot and grab the box, a box of 12 seeing as that was the smallest and we have but three people in our family. We always get name brand, none of the cheap stuff, and quickly head toward the cashier. I hold the box now rather than my father’s hand and I stare at the pretty picture on the front of the delectable thing of which I would soon partake.
We tear into the box as soon as we get to the car and each grab one of the packages from within. The hot sun beats down onto us through the windshield and the once hard ice cream begins to soften and drip down my small arm. I begin to frantically lick around all of the edges while continuing to keep track of how many bites I have taken in all of my obsessive ways. After holding it, the cookie has softened enough to stick to my fingers making them black, sticky and delicious. I lick the chocolate off of my fingers and wipe them off on my once clean shirt.
This I believe that life should be no more than sticky fingers and dripping ice cream. We should pay more attention to the food in life and less attention to the stains it ends up leaving on our clothes.
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