KidSpirit

Ice Cream for One

Strength and InfluenceGlobal Beat

Every Friday after school, I used to sit in the backseat of my mother’s Honda, glowing with sweat from the heat of the Lahore summer, and constantly fussing about the 12th multiplication table I was forced to recite. I remember the way I stopped talking, almost instantaneously, when my mother made the right-turn out of the school driveway towards the intersection, where the icecream man’s cart lured us in with its familiar red and white poster. My mother would try to hide her smile when I squealed for the pink and purple zapper ice-pop, already getting her the wallet from her handbag.

The nostalgic familiarity that came with the taste of artificial grape and strawberry mixed together is still something I experience to this day. When I see the simple logo of “Omoré Ice Cream” painted on the back window of a supermarket, I can’t help but smile at the memory of a girl with a sticky grin, grabbing at tissues to stop the melted slush from spilling onto her clothes, and I cannot help but miss the cart, which is no longer parked by the intersection.

When I was ten years old, I found out that the man who ran the cart spoke five different languages and had a degree in history from the local community college. At the time, I did not understand why that was important. Why it was relevant to know that an educated man was forced to spend his life serving ice cream to children.

Now, I pity the naive girl who sat in the back-seat of that car, not bothered by the thought of an intelligent man unable to get a job, forcing himself to give up on all that he could be because living on five rupees an hour was better than having nothing at all. But take his story and multiply it by one thousand; he and I have a better lifestyle than half the people living on the streets just outside my house! Now I think about how lucky he was to even have a job, as I see the children on the street, selling their matchsticks out of recycled newspaper and tying the ripped pieces of clothing on their heads.

Today, when I am asked who inspires me to be a leader, I think back to the ice cream man. I never asked for his name. I never looked past the wrapped sweet he held out to me, to the man behind the grey, matted beard and stained clothing. So now when I pass by that intersection, I remember him and the others like him: the ones who deserve to be fought for.

Iman Monnoo is a 16-year-old in 11th grade at Lahore Grammar School Defence in Pakistan. Aside from reading and writing, she also has an affinity for public speaking and drama!

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Art by Jaden Flach, Brooklyn

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Art by Jaden Flach, Brooklyn