Lost Journal

Humor Column
by Tim Mollen
July 6, 2006

Biting Ice Cream is an Unorthodox Test of Manhood

Journal Entry: August 19, 1980 (age 11)

Most rules made by parents are understandable, even to the kids.  Mr. and Mrs. Mollen have more rules than most, but the rules are usually reasonable, and therefore easy to obey.  Occasionally, however, my dad will come down from Mount Sinai with a tablet that contains a misspelling, a nonsequitur, or an incomplete thought.  Nevertheless, we, the Chosen People are compelled to conform.

Such was the case today, as we sat around the family table.  Dinner is a somewhat regimented affair, beginning each day at precisely 5:30 p.m.  Grace is said, “please” and “thank you” are required, and any child leaving the table must first ask to be excused.  There had been six kids at the table at one point, so these niceties had been necessities forged in the fires of family chaos.  By now, there are only two of us, but the familiar, civilized structure remains.  In explanation, Mom reminds us that someday Dan and I will need to impress our girlfriends’ parents with our table manners.

After tonight’s baked chicken, peas and salad were finished, and the plates were cleared, Mom announced that she had a treat in store for dessert.  She had picked up some ice cream and cones at the Big M market, since it was such a hot day.  Better yet, she had gotten Neapolitan ice cream, so we could have a mix of vanilla, chocolate and strawberry.  No one had yet had a chance to carve out the entire chocolate section, so this was a treat indeed.  But soon after we all began enjoying our ice cream cones, Dad disturbed the idyllic scene by turning a stern eye toward my brother and me.  

“Bite your ice cream.”

His stentorian tone silenced the table.  Finally, Dan almost whispered, “What do you mean?”

“I mean, don’t lick your ice cream.  Bite it.”  Then, to underline his point, he demonstrated – chomping directly into the middle of his cone’s uppermost scoop.  Just watching it was uncomfortable for us.  For Dan, who had just been fitted with braces, it was downright painful.  One cannot comfortably bite into a frozen object when one has a mouth full of conductive metal.  But one cannot disobey one’s father, either.  So dessert suddenly became a test of endurance.

We failed.   The only way we could comply with the new frozen treat consumption regulation was to stretch our lips over our teeth and eat like Muppets.  In addition to looking ridiculous, this technique removed any pleasure from the dessert experience.

Since dinner, Dan and I have been puzzling over Dad’s reasoning.  Were we taking too long to eat our ice cream?  Was licking too hedonistic an activity for the dinner table?  Was this a test of manhood; a traditional rite of passage meant to imprint on us the inextricable link between life’s sweetness and its pain?

The answers are sure to remain shrouded in mystery.  We just hope we won’t have to drink our birthday cakes next year.

© 2006 Tim Mollen

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