To him, birthdays meant having ice cream. He was never satisfied even with the most sumptuous meal, without his favorite dessert. I can still recall how his eyes light up and his lips curve to a smile of delight when we tell him that it is just about time for the ice cream.
Year after year, birthday after birthday, it is the one thing that makes his day. Until we find ourselves establishing a tradition that meant having ice cream on everyone’s birthday. While other families have the quintessential cake as the birthday dessert, my family gets a kick out of digging our spoons almost instantaneously into the hard, cold slab of dairy delight, laughing when we see our poor spoons bend in defeat.
Last night, I thought of reminding my sister to buy one but I got so absorbed in the demands of the day that it slipped my mind.
Almost.
I will buy ice cream tonight and share it with my housemates, I thought to myself.
An hour later, I get this message from my sister:
“It is Papa’s birthday. We will buy ice cream.”
It is raining outside, the air is slightly colder than the previous days.
But who cares?
It is ice cream day.
