"As for memories, I had a wonderful childhood filled with loving parents who gave us everything they could. They worked hard, sacrificed, but always filled our days with love and attention. I am close with my brothers and one memory that stands out is of my brother who is three years younger. The ice cream truck was a special treat. There was very little extra money, so we didn’t get it often. My brother was three, so that made me six. Ice cream is just about my favorite thing on the planet and everybody knows that. We were given a nickel for a cone, and on that sultry, hot day, my brother Kevin got vanilla and I got chocolate. We sat on the stoop to eat, but the heat got to my cone, and it slid gracefully to the concrete. I looked in numb horror as it melted into puddle. The truck was at the corner, but I wouldn’t ask for more money. That was our treat, it was done, and I knew they had nothing extra. Kevin looked at the brown mess on the ground and held out his cone. “Take mine,” he piped.
“No.” Ice cream from a truck was a big deal. I simply wouldn’t take his. Kevin looked at me. He stared at my mess on the floor. “Well, I don’t want it if you don’t have it. You love ice cream.”
I told him, I was fine; there was no reason for both of us to miss out. Kevin shook his blonde, three-year-old head and tossed his ice cream next to mine on the dirty floor. “What did you do that for!!?” I looked at another wasted cone. “If you don’t have it, then I don’t want it.” He stated. “I can’t eat mine, if you don’t have any!” It was a profound moment of true love, honor, and sacrifice. My three-year-old brother taught me what being a sibling really meant. I never loved anyone more at that moment and it set the bar for the rest of my life. It taught a six-year-old girl that pleasure is only enjoyable when it is shared."