I have never liked ice cream.  It tastes greasy and I can't wait to go brush my teeth if I eat it.  So I don't. But then, I have never liked milk.  Same reason.  Or yogurt.  Whipped cream and cream cheese and sour cream are a little better if they are on something else.

But……..when I was four, my dad took me to the Ft. Smith hospital to get my shots.  And when we were done, he bought me a strawberry malt.  I remember the building, the flight of steps that must have been a mile wide and a mile tall.  And holding his hand.  I loved my dad.  He loved me.  Being with him all by myself was always an adventure.  He bought two strawberry malts and said, "We want nutmeg on those malts."  It was so very good.  I'm sure it was because we were together.

I got a strawberry malt yesterday.  It tasted like a memory.  And the memory tasted delicious.  I was four years old, holding my dad's hand.  The smell of nutmeg brings back the same memory.

My family had no money.  Dad walked ten miles to work to save the dime it cost to ride.  I wonder how he saved the money to buy me a malt.  And why he would spend it on me.  There were so many things we really needed.  But he bought me an "occasion".  There weren't many occasions in our lives back then that involved money.    And the memory is vivid.  And treasured.

I thank God for my Dad.

Psalms 70:17-18 "O God you have taught me from my youth: and hitherto I have declared your wondrous works.  Now also when I am old and gray headed, O God, do not forsake me until I have shown your strength to this generation and your power to every generation that is to come."

I don't have gray hair.  Neither did he.  He died when he was 94, but he was never old.  I hope I never get old either--no matter how many years I live.