Clever help with snowball making …
I lived on Smith Hill growing up on Pleasant Valley Pkwy in Providence, RI. Every winter the Italian kids in the neighborhood had a snowball fight against the Irish kids who lived a block away. They (Irish) always killed us!
One year, I remembered that my Dad had brought some ice cream scoops home from his pharmacy to repair.
I ran up the stairs of our tenement and begged my mother to let me take the scoops to make snowballs.
She cautioned that I was the only one who was to use them. It truly stemmed the tide in the fight, as I sat on the ground and just plopped the already round balls directly into my teammates’ hands.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, a little girl appeared on the other side of our narrow street begging for someone to help her cross the street, saying, “I want to play with the ice cream scoops too.” That gave away our whole strategy, and the other side called us “Cheats.” Now they too just wanted to have me make snowballs and hand them off to be thrown as far as possible.
My mother did watch the little girl, Ginny, cross the street. No one knew her, so we were sure she had wandered from far away.
Mom asked her phone number which, thankfully, she knew, and someone from her house came to rescue her.
Ginny and I are friends to this day.
Mom did not fare too well with Dad when he noticed the scoops had more wrong with them than when he brought them home, but he did congratulate my bother and me for finally winning one.
Guess he wasn’t really that angry!