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cream to flop onto the table。

Before my dad could stop him; David picked up the ice cream and tried to cram it back onto

the cone。 But the cone was shattered and the ice

cream fell over again; only this time it landed on the floor。

My dad said; “Leave it; David。 I'll get you a new one;” but David didn't listen。 His chair shot

back and he dove after it。

“No; David! Let me get you a new one。” My dad pulled him by the arm; but David wouldn't

budge。 He grabbed the ice cream and crammed it

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back onto what was left of his cone; and when the bottom part of his cone crumbled

pletely away; he started screaming。

It was awful。 He was like a two…hundred…pound infant; throwing a tantrum on the floor。 He

was yelling words I couldn't understand; and after a

minute of trying to calm him down; my father said; “Julianna; can you get him another cone?”

The man behind the counter scooped as fast as he could; but in that short time David

knocked over a table and two chairs with his flailing and

managed to smear chocolate everywhere。 The checkers and customers at the registers

seemed frozen with terror—like David was some sort of

monster out to destroy the world。

I gave the new cone to my father; who handed it to David; right there on the floor。 And while

David sat there eating it; my father and I worked

around him; putting everything 

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