If it were up to me, we'd cap off every summer night with a stop at the shaved ice shack. I remember being about Hank's age and saving all of my hard-earned chore allowance (dusting = $.10, folding laundry = $.10) for enough money to buy a Tiger's Blood (I still haven't figured out what flavor that actually is, but it's still my favorite) shaved ice. One childhood summer, under my sister's direction, a few of us neighborhood kids put on an off-Broadway backyard patio performance of Cinderella. I was given the prestigious role of playing the servant who fits the step-sisters and Cinderella with the glass slipper (one guess who played Cinderella?), as well as the stage crew person who announced the scene changes (complete with a borrowed from Dad, 20 sizes too big, suit coat and tie). After many rehearsals, the illustration and distribution of flyers all over the neighborhood, and the selling of admission tickets and intermission snacks, I remember feeling very surprised that our theatre production only netted enough profits to buy each cast member a shaved ice (I now realize my mom likely contributed the majority of the necessary funds) after we had all fantasized about what we would each do with our portion of our earnings. My theatre career was brief, but I never lost that inclination to blow all my hard-earned chore allowance on shaved ice.
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