It All Starts With Ice

I don't remember much about my early childhood because I'm old (" You're halfway to 72," one of my sons recently reminded me; I can't remember which one).

One thing I do remember is being in some preschool classroom and looking outside at some water we had put in cups on the outer windowsill. It was a cold day, and they had turned to ice, and I thought that was just the coolest thing in the world.

(Just for future reference, this may have been at Olgethorpe, which used to stand where the Publix is now at the intersection of Johnson Ferry and Ashford Dunwoody.)

Ice is cool, because it's water, but it's not. And any kid can make it.

So it was with no surprise that I heard Sam (4) open the freezer door last night during dinner (Sam does not stay at the table; he wanders) and exclaim, "I did it!" Then he came stomping into the dining room roaring a Frankensteinian laugh, "Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!"

Sure enough, he had an old sippy cup, filled solid with ice. It had frozen downward, puckering out the bottom of the cup so that it couldn't sit straight. But it was massive, heavy, and cold. And Sam loved it. "Dad! Look! I made ice!"

I admired it for a minute, remembering my own excitement with Magical Ice. I congratulated Sam and handed back his wonder, which he then showed to his brothers. Jonah (6), who had taught Sam this particular trick, was very happy. Stephen (7) was somewhat less so, since Sam had interrupted his dinnertime reading. But once he realized what was going on he was equally congratulatory.

Sam then returned his ice to the freezer. It was there this morning, along with a half-frozen Moe's cup that Jonah must have put in last night.

This winter, I'll get some clear plastic cups and put them outside the back window, so that we can see if we can make outside ice.

If I can remember.