After just a bite or two, she said, “This is the best ice cream I’ve ever had in my whole life. Everyone who sees this” — and I must note at this point, the parlor is utterly empty except for Â me, the beloved, my dad, the proprietor, and her — “is going to want sprinkles just like this.”Â
The whole day was filled with wonderment more or less on this scale. At the end of it, she was running back and forth in our small place, singing a moment-by-moment Â improvised song about how she was better than fairies, better than princesses, she could do anything. Her lyrics. Which I take to mean: she felt pretty much on top of the world. Â
If you’re reading this, preschool director and staff (and you know who you are): Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Â A hundred times over. Last year, she wouldn’t stand up in the little line and sing with everyone else, even though she had every lyric and hand gesture memorized probably by the second or third repetition. This year, she beamed, and sang out, and beamed some more. Â Which is pretty much what we’re all working towards.Â
I will count us quite lucky if we witness some proximity of this post-pre-school joy, annually, for the next thirteen years. A gal can hope. Now pass the sprinkles.