The Place To Be At 13
There was something about that hot chocolate. I don’t know whether it was because my hands were cold despite the heavy mittens my aunt had crocheted or the sweet smell of that cocoa powder. To this day, I don’t know if that hot chocolate was made with water or powdered milk. I just knew that it was a special treat after spending a few hours circling the frozen ice rink at Wheeling Park. Ice skating on Friday nights at the park was a ritual for many in-between and young teens. As far as I know, it is still the thing to do 50-plus years later. It was where you dared hold hands with ...
