Personal Narrative

My Memoir: ice cream

Sam-Smith-MemoirWhen I was a kid my grandparents and I would sit on the couch and watch television in the evenings. We had all kinds of favorites. Beverly HillbilliesAndy GriffithAll in the FamilyHee-Haw, Happy DaysThe Brady BunchThe Rockford FilesThe Partridge FamilyLaverne & Shirley, you name it. Those were great times, even though we only had black and white. And over the air, so usually rabbit ears with enough tin foil hanging off them to wrap a decade’s worth of Thanksgiving leftovers.

Anyway, every once in awhile Grandmother would look over at me and say, “do you want some ice cream?” You have to understand that up until that moment the thought of ice cream hadn’t crossed my mind. But now that she mentioned it, ice cream sounded pretty good. (Okay, technically it was always the ugly bastard cousin of ice cream, ice milk. Still.)

“Yeah,” I said, brightening. “That sounds real good.”

“All right,” she said. “Will you get me some, too, while you’re up?”

BAM!

That always struck me as being all kinds of unfair, and probably explains why to this day I’m more suspicious of people acting nice than is probably healthy for me.

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3 replies »

  1. That’s hilarious! Your grandmother sounds awesome, Sam. I can relate, though I was always parked on the carpet in front of the ole floor console. In our country community, those kind of shows and Wednesday night’s trip to the local auction barn were usually highlights of the week. Funny how much most people have now, yet they miss out on the simple experiences you can’t put a price on.

    If it’s any consolation, my grandmother and I were in the living room once when I was about 7, and I asked her to get up and get something from one of the high kitchen cabinets. She told me her back hurt. I replied, “But how about your legs?” She forgot all about her sore back and started laughing, recalling it even decades later. Good times, no matter which foot the shoe is on.

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