By Elizabeth L. Harris  Spring 1993 Writing assignment #1 SOS [Senior Outreach Services] class in Journaling with Nell Black

An afternoon at the park, a nice treat for me and my older brother Allison to share.  This involved walking six and a half blocks to the corner of 49th St. and Pabst Ave.—the closest entrance to Washington Park in Milwaukee.  I don’t remember how we spent the day, but the park was a favorite haunt with its lily ponds, the zoo, playgrounds, tennis courts, and lots of open space, trees and flower beds—we knew every corner.

What I do remember about the day was the walk home. 

We had each been given a nickel to buy an ice cream cone to eat on the way home.  Those 6½ blocks were much longer after playing all afternoon on a hot summer day.  Holly’s Drug Store was on the corner of 50th and Pabst and they were famous for the generous scoops they used to fill the cones.  Somehow we had avoided losing our nickels, and bought our cones as planned.

Now there are many ways to eat an ice cream cone. 

Allison (in his teen years he acquired the name of “Spooey” and has so been called ever since) wolfed his down hungrily.  By the time we reached 51st Street it was more than half gone while I was still licking off the crown of mine.  By 52nd Street his was all gone, and my ice cream was just barely down to the edge of the cone, which I was starting to nibble.  He began by asking me for a lick, and I refused.  He continued to tease and cajole and I, just as determined, refused to give in—not one lick—and furthermore I made my cone last all the way to 55th Street where we turned off for the last ½ block to our house, all the while being unjustly accused of being selfish and greedy and unwilling to share.

Allison had so convinced himself that he complained bitterly to mother about my behavior that day . . . and ever since, whenever we’re together, and especially if other family members are around, Spooey takes great glee in elaborating on that event, one hot summer afternoon when I had an ice cream cone and he didn’t, and I wouldn’t share—not even one little lick.