Letters: Ice cream brings back special memories
- From Our Post and Courier Readers
- 4 hrs ago
My memories of ice cream are three-fold, involving adventure, excitement and comfort.
When I was very small growing up in Massachusetts, I sometimes accompanied my grandfather to purchase pints of black raspberry and pistachio ice cream at Porter’s, a tiny stand at the end of his street.
The flavors were not appealing to me. I was more interested in chocolate or vanilla.
What did appeal to me was the adventure of going someplace alone with my large and imposing grandfather.
When I was a little older, hearing the chimes of the ice cream truck when in possession of a dime and a nickel created an excitement I can only compare to that of getting my first paycheck: the money burned a hole in my pocket.
Hoodsie Cup? Push-up Pop? Nutty Buddy? Strawberry Shortcake?
The choices seemed endless.
When I was ostensibly grown and pregnant with my first child, ice cream represented comfort.
I remember a particular trip for ice cream after a childbirth class during which my husband and I had watched a video of an actual birth.
Afterward, we barely spoke. My husband drove directly to our favorite ice cream stand.
“Two hot fudge sundaes,” he said.
I nodded emphatically.
We took the cardboard containers, overflowing with real whipped cream, to our car where we ate in silence, enjoying the steadying comfort that only sugar, chocolate and cream can bring.
JOCELYN CHABOT
Charleston
Essays 
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