ice cream

ice cream

A while back I gave the keynote address at the induction ceremony of the Houston County (GA) Educators’ Hall of Fame. Here’s part of that speech…
I once had an ice cream cone with the school bully—a fifth-grader named Jay. I don’t remember how this came to pass exactly—maybe he and I just happened to be at the ice cream shop at the same time. But I remember that he and I and another boy ate our ice cream cones outside, in the grimy hindparts of a shopping center, among the dumpsters and discarded pallets. And I remember Jay swiping the last crumbs of the cone off his hands, then balling up his hard little fist and punching me right below my left eye. I remember the hot shame that burned on my face as I pelted home as fast as my bike would take me.

When my parents asked about the hurt place below my eye, I made something up rather than tell them what really happened. I think I wanted to protect them–didn’t want them to know what a mean world they had brought me into.

But I had a very special teacher that fourth-grade year—Mrs. Romero, a beautiful Cuban woman, so kind and generous-hearted that every kid in the class believed himself to be her favorite. In my case, of course, it was true. She was exactly the sort of person you could give your troubles to.

I didn’t give my troubles to my teacher, however, and she didn’t give me comfort. She gave me something much more important—something I didn’t even want.

Field Day at Miller Elementary fell a week or two after my ice cream outing with Jay. When the fifth-grade sprinters lined up to run the hundred-yard dash, my stomach churned at the sight of Jay taking his place. My loathing was magnified by the knowledge that Jay would probably win. The whistle blew, the boys bolted from the starting line, and my heart sank as Jay pulled into the lead like some sort of flying rooster.

Above the shouts and squeals of children came a delicious Cuban trill: “Rrrrun, Jay, rrrrun!” Jay heard Mrs. Romero’s encouragement. The intent look on his face spread into a grin, and he ran faster, beating his nearest competitor by many yards.

I glared at Mrs. Romero in hurt astonishment. Did she even know what kind of delinquent she was encouraging? If she had any idea what Jay had done to me, her favorite student, she wouldn’t have been so friendly. It was undignified—it was scandalous—for a grown woman to be yelling like that for a little criminal.

But, of course, she knew and understood much more about Jay than I did. She understood that he was still a boy, that his course didn’t have to be set just yet. And she understood how badly a fatherless boy needs for somebody—anybody—to delight in him.

The root of the word ‘educate,’ as I’m sure you know, means literally to lead forth or to draw out. Mrs. Romero drew something out of Jay that day. I had never seen what could happen to his face when he believed that somebody felt he was worth something. I had seen smirks and sneers and the occasional wicked grin on Jay’s face. But I had never seen happiness.

Mrs. Romero drew something out of me too, though she didn’t know it. Quite by accident—just by doing her job incredibly well—she brought an ugly self-righteousness out into the open where I could get a good look at it. She was an agent of grace that day—for me no less than Jay. She showed me that there is a wideness in God’s mercy that is wider than the sea.

I don’t think of Jay very often, but when I do, I try to remember not the beady-eyed sinner behind the ice cream shop, but the Field Day runner taking a boyish joy in the delight of a woman who loved him in spite of all.

  • Karen Bazemore Hill
    3:42 PM, 23 August 2010

    That’s a very powerful message, Jonathan. Beautifully said! Thank you!

  • Chad Ethridge
    4:18 PM, 23 August 2010

    Well said.

  • John Haney
    4:48 PM, 23 August 2010

    Great post. Reminds me of so many kids I’ve known over the years. So many bullies are just looking for someone to notice them.

  • S.D. Smith
    1:42 PM, 24 August 2010


  • Curt McLey
    6:02 PM, 24 August 2010

    This story sounds familiar. Is it a Rabbit Room rerun? No matter. It’s a message I need to hear again and again. Beautiful.

  • Jonathan Rogers
    6:05 PM, 24 August 2010

    Yes, Curt. It’s a RR rerun. And it won’t be the last.

    • Aaron Roughton
      5:48 PM, 22 July 2011

      The cool thing about RR reruns (RRRR for short) is that I can go back and evaluate which comments I made (or anyone else made for that matter) were effective and well received and then re-post them here.  On this post, in particular, I tried to derail the comment section with a comment about the ice cream cone looking like Big Bird.  I won’t mention that here, though, because you have wisely changed the picture to a decidely un-Big Bird looking cone.  Well done.

  • sally apokedak
    10:08 PM, 24 August 2010

    “It was undignified—it was scandalous—for a grown woman to be yelling like that for a little criminal.”
    Ha, that made me laugh. But it’s really a lot like the father of the prodigal, picking up his skirts and running and falling on his neck with kisses.

    Great story, Jonathan.

  • Kristi S.
    10:11 PM, 25 August 2010

    That, uncharacteristically, made me tear up. It did NOT end like I thought it would, as you probably intended. Seeing ugly self-righteousness is never fun, or expected, yet we should be grateful to whomever reveals it. Somehow.I found you through Abe. We are lucky to know him.

  • Brett
    6:55 PM, 31 August 2010

    Ah. Just read that. Painfull memories. Your eye healed much quicker than my heart has from that incident.

    • Loraine Morrison
      7:36 AM, 11 July 2020

      I love this story!!! I never knew educate means to draw out. How beautiful!!! I so want to be another Mrs. Romero with everyone!!! Seeing the person under the roughness, like Michaelango, drawing David out of the stone. Thank you!!!

  • Mikebates
    7:28 PM, 19 July 2011

    I can still remember the seething anger from unjust assaults. I always wanted to be as brave as my Mom who once smashed her cone on top of a teenage boy’s head after he “flirtingly” tipped her cone into her nose. She was 25 or so and my brother and I were amazed at her “Heroism”. My Dad later told us she had played linebacker with the Chicago Bears and we believed him, we had seen her in action. She is now 77 and she still has a temper!  I’m willing to bet the young man in Minnesota from 1959  or 60 still remembers fleeing the soda fountain with vanilla running in his ears! Sir, if you are out there, I apologize for my Mom’s temper. Bless you!

  • Betsy Rogers
    9:12 PM, 22 July 2011

    This is one of your very best! I love it. B R

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