Picking out a specific story to tell about my Dad is tougher than it seems. I'll start out with a light one that ends with a moral.

Mr Bills on Route 73 in Winslow was the site of many post-baseball game evenings growing up. All the kids and parents would get together for ice cream, laughs, and fun. If Dad ever asked you on those summer nights if your ice cream cone smelled funny you could be sure he was about to say "Nyeeeet!" and shove your own ice cream into your face. Ever the prankster, my Dad trotted out the "Nyeeeet" trick every year on as many kids as possible. I usually stuck to water ice because of this.

One night my family and I were sitting in a nice restaurant in Hammonton. My parents were dressed up and my Dad even had a tie on. At the end of the meal we ordered desert and Dad orded a hot fudge Sunday with whipped cream. Knowing my Dad would never fall for his own trick, I waited until his spoon was in the correct alignment with his face.

"Nyeeeet!" I yelled and the spoon went flying from his hand into the air and a huge glob of ice cream landed on his tie.

I gaged the reaction around the table and clearly this was not the place for "Nyeeeets."

My Dad just looked at me and said, "Don't ever do that to your mother."