Monday, September 16, 2024
My favorite memory of Mr. Infosino happened many years ago, when Monica and I were in our 20s. One afternoon, we offered to take her dad to our favorite spot, the Milk Barn, but only if he promised to leave a note for Mrs. Infosino, who was out grocery shopping. He obliged, or so we thought. Later, back at the house, she offered us a treat—ice cream. We were surprised. Didn’t she know we went out? After much cajoling (she was shocked her husband declined multiple offers) he finally caved, and admitted we had gone. What about the note? He showed it to us then, a "to-do" list lying unread on the kitchen table. There, at the bottom, an item had been added, “milk barn”. That was it. He knew that the outrageous cones from the Milk Barn were probably not on his diet, and I’m guessing he hoped to erase the penciled-in addition before his wife returned. She beat us back to the house. She hadn't seen that note, but she still foiled his plan.
A little over a month ago, I sat in the Van Dyke’s parking lot with Monica and her parents. A long time had passed since I saw them, to my regret. But I do not regret that night. Mr. Infosino handled his cup of ice cream like a champ, finishing his before I had even gotten to the lip of my own. I knew Mr. Infosino as an avid reader, a dry wit, and such a kind man, but he was someone who found joy in life's small moments, too. And he knew that for those, nothing beats a cup of really great ice cream.
