This is a rough draft of an essay I probably won't submit to the Edy's Slow Churned Neighborhood Salute Contest.
When I was a young child and the world was getting me down, I have no fonder memory than one of my mother leading me by the hand to the freezer opening it and . . . pointing out that having gallon sized portions of ice-cream in the freezer (unless for a party) is a complete and utter waste. Then she'd gather my brother and I into her beat up station wagon and cart us across town to Stensen's--- an ice cream shop owned by a father and son who knew how to churn black-raspberry right and scoop it into a waffle cone with love.
Whatever my problem, the elder Stensen would listen with genuine interest and just having someone outside the immediacy of my problem listen, well that did my soul good. And the deliciousness of that ice-cream never hurt. Being with other people from my neighborhood, sometimes strangers (it's a fairly large city and community) and knowing we were all there to celebrate, to feel better, to enjoy this town's tiny bit of history --- no other town had a Stensen's in it--- made those moments special.
So Edy's Slow Churn . . . suck it. Your conglomerate has put places like Stensen's out of business. My neighborhood wouldn't need cheering up after a girl was shot in the arm (leaving her paralyzed in that arm) two houses down on my street if kids had other places to go than the safety of togetherness provided by street gangs.
And your shit ain't got shit on Ben and Jerry's. Bite me.
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