Do-overs allowed for ice cream accidents

“Dad, you’ve got to write a column about that man over there,” one of my sons exclaimed as we dined at a local restaurant recently. I’ll be the first to tell you I don’t do requests. If something hits me, I write about it. In my twisted mind, I deem it unfair to expound the ideas of others.

But as I observed this gentleman in action, I realized my son had hatched a valid suggestion.

The scene began to unfold when this particular fella visited the help-yourself dessert bar, and to the amazement of all onlookers, constructed the perfect ice cream twist atop the cone he was clutching. The more he swirled, the taller the creation grew and the more impressed we all became.

When he finished, my friend had hand-crafted a soft-serve sculpture that would have made Michelangelo proud. He looked like the Statue of Liberty lifting the torch as he carefully negotiated a path back to his table. “No way that thing makes it all the way back to his seat without tipping over,” I predicted.

All too often I’ve witnessed ice cream creations fall from their waffle-flavored perches, ultimately plummeting to their deaths on a cold, hard floor.

I remember as a small child visiting a restaurant in my hometown called “The Burger Barn.” Though it did not survive the 1970s, it holds a special place in my heart due to the kindness showed me on one of my few visits to its premises.

I was extremely proud of the ice cream-filled cone when the young lady handed it to me that day. So much so that I began taunting my older brother concerning the monstrous size of my dessert compared to whatever undersized item he had ordered. Of course, the walls came tumbling down a few seconds later, leaving my brother giggling and me in tears.

The kind young lady not only cleaned up my mess, but prepared yet another gigantor-sized ice cream delight for me at no further cost to my parents. Had she been my age at the time, I would have asked her to marry me.

It seems to me that folks almost always get a free cone of ice cream when they drop their first one on the floor. Even adults. I’ve always been curious about such an arrangement. If you wreck a brand new car as you exit the parking lot, the dealer doesn’t hook you up with a free one. Stepping in a mud puddle won’t get you a new pair of shoes.

But ice cream is different, I guess. I started thinking that maybe God works the same way as my girlfriend at the Burger Barn. If we mess up on our first try, He is willing to give us another shot at it. And it’s free. Sometimes He’ll even clean up the mess for us once He knows we’ve learned a lesson. Not that we should ever drop it on purpose just to test Him or anything.

Oh, by the way, you’re probably wondering if my prediction came true for Mr. Liberty’s cone of ice cream that night at the restaurant. Nope, he made it safely to his seat and savored every bite of his flawless creation. (I suppose it would have made for a better column if he had dropped it.)