March 03, 2003 | 4:25 PM

Do you remember when happiness was a summer night in the mid eighties. Walking up your street, your small hand in your father�s to Don & Bob�s for vanilla soft serve in a cone, with rainbow sprinkles. And then back home to sit on rusting law chairs, enjoying with vehemence your dribbling desserts as the curtain went down on another easy August evening?

I remember all too well. And perhaps this is why I am never ever satisified. Until my father died, for the most part I really did have a beautiful childhood. Everything else pales in comparison. I would be more than happy to be seven years old for the rest of my life.