Everyone knows spring is the time for rebirth and renewal. The flowers bloom again, the trees start budding, the birds come back north. The Red Sox are on, Sunday afternoons, ice cream stands are open and summer feels oh so close. It’s right around this time each year I would get a call from my boss at the ice cream stand telling me yes, its time. Finally, after a long winter, we can open our windows again and start serving our faithful patrons.

But this year is different. Just like the way some flowers won’t bloom again this spring, and some birds don't come back north, we know that not everyone makes it through winter. Including my boss, my 84-year-old best friend, who won’t be calling me this spring.

I never knew when I put on that purple polo what I was getting myself into. My first job? Sure. A chance to make money, and have some responsibility in my life? I can do that. But did I ever expect to call the white-haired man who signed my checks one of the most important people in my life? Never.

Every day, he’d tell us incredible stories from his life, like that time he played baseball with Ted Williams and Bobby Doerr in Cape Cod. He talked about his escapades across Germany during the Korean War and reminisced about his glory days on the Beverly Fire Department. One time, he even bragged about winning the spelling bee in second grade and proceeded to reenact it. He laughed at anything and everything, even when I lit the microwave on fire and he got bit by a dog. Nothing was a burden for this man, everything was a pleasure, even if it was driving forty minutes each way to a distributor on a scalding hot summer’s day with no AC because it meant he got to stop for Fuddruckers on the way back. He had an incredible zest for life, one which he kindly shared with us.

And that’s another thing. He loved us, his workers, his adopted granddaughters. He just loved to tease us any way he could, whether it was making fun of our dinner choices to laughing at the customers who flirted with us. He sent us Christmas cards and graduation gifts, never forgetting an important date. He and his “lovely wife” would take us out to dinner because they genuinely enjoyed hanging out with us. And we loved being with them too. His customers? Just another extension of our already crazy family. When you came to ice cream stand, you weren’t just getting your treat, but a 10-minute conversation with the man himself, even if the line was down the street.

We agreed about a lot of things, like that oldies radio stations were far superior to country ones and that ice cream was the solution to anything. We disagreed about a lot too, since he thought Denny’s was a good place to go breakfast and that McDonald’s coffee was better than Dunkin’s. He loved strawberry frappes, the Florida Keys and the song “Cat’s In The Cradle,” even though it made him sad every time.

And just like the last few lines in that Harry Chapin song, I think about the phone calls we’d all like to get but probably never will: your house mortgage is paid off, you’ve won a Caribbean vacation, the President has invited you to the White House. What I really want, is for my boss to call me and tell me the time has come, that after a long winter, we’re finally ready to open our windows to another great season at the ice cream stand.

But that is a call I’ll never get.