Parable of the Ice Cream

As educators, we know that some days are more challenging than others and sometimes we need some inspiration just to get through the day. As Catholic educators, we are called to teach as Jesus taught, so I’d like to share a parable. Probably one you haven’t heard before. It’s the parable of the ice cream.

A few years ago, I set out to perform community service at St. Vincent’s Day Home. This historic pre-school had served disadvantaged families in Oakland for decades. However, it was pretty much the last thing I felt like doing that day. Behind in my work, I was looking forward to taking the day to catch up on the emails that had accumulated in my in-box. The Campus Ministry team explained that we all needed to model service to our students and that my presence would send an important message. I remember sighing at the driver as I climbed into the van that took us to the school.

I was placed in a classroom of four-year olds. A feeling of panic swept through my body as they escorted me into the room and closed the door behind me. I sort of forgot what four year olds were like as it had been years since I had spent much time with preschoolers. As soon as I sat down, I was peppered with questions with little opportunity for a response, “Hi, my name is Gerard, what’s yours? This is my teddy bear. I brought him for show and tell. Do you have kids? I have a cousin named George but he got in trouble the other day…” Gerald had a unique gift of combining separate sentences into one long question, without taking a breath between his thoughts. I smiled quietly and followed Gerald’s directions more so than the instructions from the adults. Gerald and I become fast friends as he introduced me to his classmates and showed me the ropes including proper cubby use, potty location, and the butterflies they painted the day before. It was a busy classroom and I longed for nap time after only an hour.

Soon, we lined up to move outside to the playground. As the designated ball monitor, I felt compelled to initiate a basketball game. I realized that I had overestimated the eye-hand coordination of my young classmates. Throw the ball…and they miss…throw the ball and they miss…throw the ball and they miss…pretend to throw the ball—place it in their hands – and everybody celebrates.

After our basketball game, Angela, a shy diminutive girl with a crooked smile and fluffy pink jacket, assertively took me by the hand and informed me that we were going to play house. She guided me away from the crowd and over to the corner of the yard. We sat on a low stone wall that looked like something out of a storybook illustration. She announced, “You’re the mom and I’m the little girl.” I said “OK.” Then she just stared at me and I stared back not quite sure where this game was going to take us. I smiled, she smiled. I scratched my head, she scratched hers. Then, I asked her if she wanted a bowl of ice cream. She skeptically peered into my eyes and answered with confidence, “sure.”

I positioned Angela in front of me and asked her to show me her bowl. Again, her eyes pierced mine as I helped form her hands in the shape of a pretend bowl. Her tiny hands cradled her bowl as she anticipated my next words. I asked if she wanted chocolate or vanilla ice cream and she answered, “Chocolate,” her voice rising at the end of the word as if she were asking a question. I flatly responded “OK” and then leaned over to scoop the pretend ice cream from the pretend carton. Angela watched intently as I dropped each scoop of ice cream into her bowl. I paused and then looked at her and inquired if she wanted chocolate syrup. She nodded and watched as I drizzled it dramatically into her bowl. I continued by asking if she wanted sprinkles…whipped cream… and a cherry. With each inquiry, the delightful little girl with the fluffy pink jacket nodded with a smile and analyzed each move. I scattered sprinkles, shot whipped cream in circles over her bowl, and topped the dessert with a cherry. I told her that I was going to give her an extra cherry since she had been so good. She snuggled closer to me, started eating her ice cream, and continued chatting with me as if we were dining together at an elegant creamery.

Gerald approached and asked Angela what she was eating. She responded, “ice cream,” her words jumbled as if her mouth was full. With his hands at his hips, Gerald watched as Angela continued chewing and he asked “where’d you get it?” Angela nudged me without looking up and said, “Lisa gave it to me!” Gerald moved his stare to me and asked if he could have some too.

So, I lined Gerald up in front of me and shaped his hand to form the bowl. I asked him what kind of ice cream he wanted, and he asked if he could have a scoop of each. I agreed and continued asking him for his order. I offered him syrup, sprinkles, whipped cream, and a cherry. With each topping he shifted his look from me to Angela as she dipped her spoon into her bowl and seemed to enjoy each bite more than the one before.

When Gerald’s order was finally complete, he took his bowl and his excitement and sat next to Angela on the stone wall. The two of them continued chatting as they consumed each bite and I smiled as I watched them in all innocence truly take pleasure in the moment.

Soon, my reverie was interrupted by another child asking if she could have some ice cream. Again, I helped her to form her bowl and offered the same options as the first two. As I continued with this routine, I looked up to see a line of four-year olds standing patiently waiting their turn for ice cream.

On about the sixth order, one of my previous customers tugged on my coat and sadly looked down at her bowl of ice cream. She informed me that I had forgotten to give her sprinkles and asked if she could have some. I apologized, scattered her sprinkles and gave her extra whipped cream for the inconvenience. The happy customer strolled back to her place on the wall.

I continued scooping up ice cream until every customer was served. The amazing sense of patience among these small children impressed me. The line was long, but each child waited quietly with anticipation of their special dessert and each taking their place on the storybook wall to share in the ice cream experience.

When I had finished scooping, I again sat next to Angela on the wall and she simply looked up at me and smiled as if she knew all along where our game of house was leading. I glanced down the wall of children, swinging their legs, chatting with friends, and engaging in a joyful experience that would give pause to the most serious of adults.

In my reflection, I longed for those days of innocence and simplicity. I appreciated the challenges that these children would face in their lifetimes, and wished that ice cream could fill those days with hope.

I thought about the wonder of imagination and the all too often absence of that magic in our adult world. At that moment, my preschool classmates had taught me the lesson of a lifetime – It takes a leap of faith to appreciate the vision.

During the times when I doubt myself, I think back on that day on the storybook wall serving ice cream and watching a line of four-year olds taking a leap of faith – and I smile.