By Amanda Massa
It was 3 p.m. in Brooklyn Heights. School had just let out at PS8 and parents and nannies scrambled to collect their children as they walked out of the gates.
The cool breeze and clear skies made for an ice cream day. And there was no better place to anchor a cart-full of the tasty treat than outside a school. The mob of children spotted it immediately.
“Ice cream!” they shouted, “Mommy I want one!” They ran past their parents, backpacks bobbing.
Tiny white paper cups filled with ice cream were shoved in all directions, the children eagerly grabbing for them.
A girl, about 5 or 6 years old—approached the stand. In the midst of the excited crowd of classmates, she remained still. She scanned the selections: mango-cherry, lemon-lime, rainbow, cookies and cream.
She waited until the crowd disappeared. Her mother stood behind, running her hands through her daughter’s pigtails. “Which one do you want?” she asked.
The little girl remained silent, concentrating diligently. She said her two options out loud: cherry-mango and rainbow. Finally, a verdict: rainbow.
The vendor scooped a large ball of the thick, sweet substance into a paper cup, stuck a spoon in it, and handed it to the patient little girl.
The girl’s mother slipped the woman a dollar bill. The little girl clasped it with delight, shoved a delicate spoonful into her mouth, and smiled.
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