By Ted Samore, KERA 90.1 commentator
Dallas, TX – Being the only child at a holiday dinner with four grown-ups is not much fun. Especially when you're four years old and anxious for the exchange of Christmas presents. Yet, my son, Griffith, quietly endured the curious food and adult conversation at our friend's home. Under the circumstances, Griff's three interruptions ("Excuse me, when do we open Christmas presents?") were not out of line. The answers he got were vague and when our host left the room for yet another course, Griff drooped in frustration.
From the kitchen, we heard, "Who wants dessert?"
Griff's mood flipped. "I do," he said, quicker and louder than anyone. He rarely gets desserts.
Each of was handed an ice cream sandwich, which amused the adults since none had had one in years. But Griff was leery. He stared at the chilly thing wrapped in white paper, then looked at me. "What's this?" he wondered.
I was amazed. My son didn't know what this was? I thought kids were born craving the darn things.
Plainly put, this is nothing but a brick of low-grade vanilla ice cream wedged between stale, doughy wafers - a confection found in any convenience store in the Western world.
This was also my favorite boyhood dessert. An ice cream sandwich coated your mouth with a marvelous, creamy, one-note taste and left cakey residue on your fingers. The joy it aroused could quiet just about any wound or hurt feeling. As bribes for proper behavior, they were unfailing. Plus, the rules for sharing with siblings were briefly suspended and no one squabbled over unequal portions.
Certain firsts bear repeating. Your first bike ride without training wheels. Your first solid hit of a baseball. Your first haircut - the way you like it. Your first hearing of "She Loves You." Each offers the thrill of discovery; something fresh. But with repetition, your notion of these experiences is altered, either enhancing or diminishing the pleasure.
However, the pleasure of an ice cream sandwich never changes. If you like the taste, it's as delicious on the hundredth encounter as it was on the first.
So here was my four-year-old son, examining one as if he'd never seen it before, which was, in fact, the case.
"Just give it a try," I said, and lifted a tip of the paper on his.
Griff peeled the wrapping. The real presents could wait; he was unveiling a new kind of gift. He sampled a corner of it and lit up immediately. "Wow," he said and took a bigger bite of the first of what would likely be countless more ice cream sandwiches. I took a bite of mine. Then we grinned at each other with bits of chocolate mush stuck to our teeth.
Lickety-split, he jumped to my lap and finished the rest. For both of us, these ice cream sandwiches were the most satisfying to date. Griff crossed a threshold - and father and son found a small bond in the mundane. Years from now, he'll be more critical of my opinion. But in this instance, my son's smile said Dad knew what he was talking about.
Ted Samore is a Dallas film director and writer. If you have opinions or rebuttals about this commentary, call (214) 740-9338 or email us at kera.org.