Here's a lovely little ice cream story from Smiley Anders:

As a very young child in Natchez, Miss., one of my earliest memories was of the ice cream man.

Our ice cream man drove a horse-drawn wagon (really) and rang a hand bell.

He always showed up during my nap. It was also my exhausted mom's nap time, which could have kept me from my daily ice cream fix. But fortunately we shared a house with my grandmother, Camille Druetta DeMarco.

When I heard the bell, I would immediately sit up in bed and wait for Grandma to open the door and poke her head in the room. Moving very quietly so as not to wake up my mom, I'd get up and follow her outside to the ice cream wagon.

Grandma loved ice cream herself (when Natchez got a Dairy Queen, a trip there was a Sunday afternoon ritual), so getting an Eskimo Pie or a cup of vanilla for me gave her a good excuse to also indulge.

We'd eat on the front porch, then she'd wipe my sticky mouth and hands with a damp washcloth and put me back in bed.

Mama never caught on, and when I dawdled over my post-nap snack of cookies and milk, she figured I was just a picky eater.

Thank you, Mr. Anders.