Long Live The Dairy Queen!

To the ice cream lovers

A Little Girl And Her Ice Cream

My belly full from eating samples at the Korean grocery store, my eyes hung heavily but the bright, lit-up sign proudly announcing “Dairy Queen”, broke me out of my food coma.

“Dairy Queen!” I shouted enthusiastically. “Pull over! Pull over! PUL-EESE!” I

commanded my dad.

My parents exchanged a look, and with a sigh, my dad started signaling to enter the parking lot. I cheered enthusiastically, clutching my comfort blankie, kicking my feet up in excitement.

“I want a cone! With chocolate!” I announced with confidence to the elderly woman at the register. My parents ordered for themselves, and when I was handed my cone, I immediately began gulping it down in huge bites.

“Slow down, tiger!” my mom warned. Shooting her a sassy look of defiance, I continued wolfing down bite after bite of velvety heaven. Those were the days where I had no worries or problems - no school, sports, music, or clubs hanging over my head. When life made perfect sense. When calories didn’t matter. Just the pure, simple delight of a carefree three year-old stuffing her face with her ice cream cone. My face smeared with vanilla ice cream and melted chocolate, I gave a toothy grin when I finished.

A Taste Of Responsibility

“DQ! DQ!” we chant over and over, the windows rolled down, hair billowing in the wind, our hands clapping in excited anticipation. Sweat drips down our backs after our annual game of footgolf at Crystal Springs.

“If you don’t be quiet, you’ll be DQed from DQ,” my parents scold.

The obnoxiously large “DQ” sign soon greets us and we quickly compare what we would be ordering. “I’m going to get a Reese’s one!”

“I want a dipped cone, daddy!”

“Race you to the counter!”

The gravel crunches under our feet, and our grubby hands touch the counter, shoving and pushing to get there first, the serene pink sky and mountains, the perfect backdrop. My blizzard meets my tongue - OMG, I’m in heaven. I carefully savor each bite of peanut buttery goodness, letting the little chunks of chocolate blend with the peanut butter.

“Noon, can I have a bite?” My brother gives his best puppy dog eyes, using his favorite nickname for me.

“NO, it’s mine!” I glare at him as if he was out of his mind. Tears fill his huge eyes, then promptly stream down his baby-soft face. My mom next to me tenses, her jaw stiffened and face taut.

Wait. “Here,” I soften my tone and hand him the rest of my Blizzard. His tears and whimpering immediately stop as his face breaks into a tear-stained smile. Slowly spooning in bite after bite after delicious bite, he hugs his comfort stuffie, his laughter filling the air once more like the ringing of delicate wind chimes. Seeing the adorable smile back on his face, the corners of my mouth lift in pride. My mom’s body promptly relaxes as she uncrosses her arms and eases her muscles. She pats my shoulders as she starts cleaning up.

I am no longer eating my ice cream, but the sweet taste of responsibility lingers in my mouth. “Long live the Dairy Queen!” my brother declares.

The Accomplishment Blizzard

Hitting the last chord of my piece with my pianist, I lift the bow off of the string, creating the perfect elegant circle with my bow and holding my position. Hearing the “okay” from the recording engineer, I immediately relax, dropping my instrument to the ground, heart still pounding with adrenaline.

“I’M DONE!” Yes! I am finally finished with my last recording for my upcoming auditions. Overwhelming relief washes over my body, weary from having to pour my heart and soul into practicing for the perfect video. I am a phoenix, released after months of being trapped in its tiny cage. My heels click-clack confidently on the shiny wooden floors of the recording studio as I step out, the grin on my face triumphant.

“To Dairy Queen!” I tell my mom. After every big recording, audition, performance, or accomplishment, our tradition is to go to Dairy Queen for a celebratory treat to commemorate my hard work.

As soon as I enter my happy place, I enthusiastically run to the counter. “An M&M blizzard, please!”

Mmm. I moan in delight as my mouth is filled with the creamy sweetness of the ice cream. I chew on some crunchy M&M pieces and sigh contentedly. The ice cream eases the tension in my body, each celebratory spoonful of soft serve and chocolate reminding me of how far I have come and filling my body with pure joy. Joy to feel release from the anxiousness in the studio, joy to not have my recordings heavy on my shoulders, joy to spoon bites of nostalgia into my mouth, and joy to take a step back and recognize the blood, sweat, and tears I had poured into perfecting my playing. I taste the accomplishment and hard work blended together like the M&M and ice cream in my Blizzard on my tongue as I close my eyes.