06/17/2026
A customer shared this to me and said “I read this and thought of you two and what you do for ‘your kids’” A long read but worth it! 🫶🏼
Many of our team members are working their very first job. They're learning responsibility, communication, teamwork, time management, and so much more than just how to scoop ice cream or take an order.
Every shift is a chance for them to grow, learn from mistakes, build confidence, and develop skills they'll carry with them for life.
We ask our customers to remember that behind the counter are young people doing their best. Unfortunately, some of our staff have experienced some unkind customers recently. While we understand that mistakes happen and busy moments can be frustrating, we hope everyone will choose kindness and grace. A little patience and encouragement can make a bigger impact than you may realize.
Thank you to everyone who supports our staff, shows grace during busy moments, and helps make Shep's Scoops a positive place for both our customers and our team. ❤️🍦
the summer my son turned fifteen, i sat in the parking lot of a little ice cream shop in rochester, new york, and watched him walk into his first job interview with his shirt half‑tucked and his hair refusing to cooperate.
i gripped the steering wheel and thought,
“when did we get here?”
his name is jordan.
he’s my oldest. quiet unless he really knows you. obsessed with basketball, video games, and anything that lets him avoid making eye contact with adults.
we’d just made it through a rough year.
his dad moved down to north carolina for a job and visits got fewer and farther between.
i picked up extra shifts at the grocery store to cover the gap. jordan picked up extra chores without me asking.
one night, around the end of school, he shuffled into the kitchen while i was packing lunch for his little sister.
“mom?” he said. “how old do you have to be to get a job?”
“fifteen with a work permit,” i said automatically. “why?”
he shrugged.
“i don’t know,” he said. “just… shoes are expensive. and i feel weird asking you for money all the time. i could get, like, a summer job. maybe.”
my chest did that tight‑and‑proud thing at the same time.
“what did you have in mind?” i asked.
“anywhere that’s not super embarrassing,” he said. “and not where my friends work, ‘cause then they’ll see me mess up.”
i laughed.
“messing up is part of the job,” i said. “but okay. what about that ice cream place near the plaza? they always have teenagers scooping.”
“sidewinder scoops?” he said. “they have cool flavors.”
his eyes actually lit up.
the next day, on our way to my shift, we drove past sidewinder scoops.
there was a hand‑painted sign in the window.
“NOW HIRING – PART‑TIME. HIGH SCHOOL STUDENTS WELCOME. APPLY INSIDE.”
i pulled into the lot.
“mom,” he hissed. “not like this. i’m not wearing the right shirt.”
“you’re wearing a shirt,” i said. “that’s a start.”
we sat there for a minute like we were on the edge of a diving board.
“you want this?” i asked.
he took a breath.
“yeah,” he said. “i think so.”
“then go in,” i said. “you can do it.”
he opened the door, then turned back.
“you’re not coming?” he asked, a little panicked.
“this part’s yours, baby,” i said. “i’ll be right here if you need to ugly cry after.”
he rolled his eyes, but he smiled.
“you’re so extra,” he muttered, and went in.
through the glass, i could see him talking to a man behind the counter. tall, brown skin, salt‑and‑pepper beard, t‑shirt with the shop logo.
they shook hands.
about twenty minutes later, jordan came back out.
i tried to read his face.
“well?” i asked.
“i start monday,” he said, like he couldn’t believe it himself. “he said i looked ‘responsible.’”
“because you do,” i said.
“i forgot my social security card, though,” he added. “he said bring it monday. also, his name is mr. leon, but we call him leon. not mister. he said mister makes him feel like a principal.”
that monday, i drove him over early and parked on the far side of the lot so i wouldn’t embarrass him.
i watched leon meet him at the door, hand on his shoulder, pointing to a stack of papers.
for the first few weeks, jordan came home wiped out.
“my feet hurt,” he’d say, dropping onto the couch. “little kids are sticky. people order the weirdest flavors.”
but there was something else there too.
a kind of tired pride.
one night, as i was washing dishes, my phone buzzed.
it was a text from an unknown number.
“hi ms. davis, this is leon from sidewinder. just wanted to let you know jordan is doing great. he was early today, asked good questions, and handled a rush like a champ. you’re raising a solid young man.”
i had to sit down on the edge of the tub with a wet plate still in my hand.
i stared at the message until the words blurred.
then i wrote back:
“thank you for saying that. he’s trying really hard. it means a lot that someone else sees it.”
leon replied with a thumbs up and a “we’ve all been fifteen once.”
over the summer, i got to see what he meant.
a few times, when i swung by to grab ice cream after my shift, i’d watch from a booth.
leon didn’t just teach jordan how to scoop and work the register.
he taught him how to say “hi, welcome in” without mumbling. how to look people in the eye. how to say, “i’m sorry, i made a mistake, let me fix that” when he rang something up wrong.
one saturday, the line was out the door.
kids everywhere, sugar high energy, adults impatient.
i saw jordan drop a whole waffle cone on the floor.
he froze.
old jordan would’ve shut down.
i watched him close his eyes for half a second, take a breath, then say to the little girl waiting,
“i’m so sorry. that one wanted to go swimming. let me fix you a new one.”
she giggled.
leon, wiping tables, caught my eye and gave me a little nod.
another time, a man in a suit snapped at him because they’d run out of pistachio.
“we drove across town for that,” the man said. “are you kidding me?”
i tensed up, ready to march over and say something mom‑like and unhelpful.
before i could move, leon stepped in.
“sir,” he said calmly. “i understand you’re disappointed. my guy here didn’t order the ice cream. he just scoops it. can i offer you a free topping for the trouble?”
the man huffed, but he backed down.
later, leon pulled jordan aside and talked to him quietly.
“you’re gonna meet all kinds in customer service,” i heard him say. “some of them having a bad day that ain’t about you. don’t let them mess with your whole spirit. you stay kind. you also don’t let nobody walk all over you. it’s a balance.”
after close one night, jordan came home with a bag of slightly melted pints.
“employee perk,” he said. “leon says they can’t sell these tomorrow, so we get to ‘save’ them.”
i opened the bag.
cookies‑and‑cream. strawberry. some wild flavor called “midnight cereal.”
“did he give everyone some?” i asked.
“yeah,” he said. “he says if the ice cream gets thrown out, he hears his grandma yelling from heaven about wasting food.”
we both laughed.
as school got closer, we sat down with the calendar.
“you can’t work four nights a week once homework hits,” i said. “maybe two? and weekends?”
he nodded.
“leon already talked to me about that,” he said. “he said school comes first. he showed me his old report cards. dude was a straight‑up nerd.”
i raised my eyebrows.
“leon went to college?” i asked.
“yeah,” jordan said. “business. he said he opened this place because his uncle owned a corner store and he grew up watching him. he said he wants us to learn we can own stuff too, not just work for other people.”
a few months into the school year, my car broke down on the way to my night shift.
transmission. expensive.
i didn’t have it.
i sat at the kitchen table that night with my head in my hands, bills spread out.
how am i going to get to work? how’s jordan going to get to school and his job?
my phone buzzed.
it was leon.
“hey,” his text said. “jordan mentioned your car is out. until you get it fixed, i can give him a ride home after closing. y’all live close. don’t want him walking late. hope that’s okay.”
i swallowed hard.
“that’s more than okay,” i wrote back. “thank you.”
for two months, a little after 10 p.m., i’d hear the rumble of leon’s old truck outside.
jordan would come in smelling like sugar and waffle cones, hair messy, eyes tired.
“leon tells good stories,” he’d say. “he said he almost lit the shop on fire once trying to invent a new flavor. don’t worry, it was before he hired me.”
we shared a look.
“please don’t blow up your job,” i said.
he laughed.
last month, sidewinder scoops put up a new thing on their wall behind the register.
a corkboard with pictures of smiling teenagers in ice cream uniforms and caps, taped up in a messy grid.
above it, in big block letters, it said:
“OUR KIDS – FIRST JOB CREW”
each photo had a little note underneath.
“maya – now at community college for nursing.”
“ty – saved up for his first car.”
“jordan – starting junior year, future ???”
“you got three question marks,” i told him when i saw it. “that’s fancy.”
“he said he’s leaving it blank until i figure it out,” jordan said. “so i don’t feel trapped.”
the other night, after a long shift at the grocery store, i stopped in for a cone.
it was quiet.
leon was wiping down the counter. jordan was in the back restocking toppings.
“hey, ms. davis,” leon said. “your boy got employee of the month. you see the star?”
i looked.
there it was, on a little chalkboard. jordan’s name next to a big yellow star.
“for showing up on time, keeping his cool, and helping train the new kids,” it said.
“that’s all him,” leon said. “you did good.”
i shook my head.
“we did good,” i said. “thank you for being his first boss and not just… his boss.”
he shrugged.
“my first job was at a burger joint down on main,” he said. “my manager was real patient. he taught me how to mop a floor and also how to look someone in the eye when i shook their hand. i still hear his voice sometimes. i’m just paying it forward.”
that night, i posted a picture of jordan behind the counter, scooping ice cream, his employee of the month star in the background.
i wrote:
“this is my son, at his first job at a little ice cream shop in rochester. he’s learning how to make change, talk to strangers, handle grumpy customers, and show up even when he’s tired.
this is also his boss, who texts me when he does well, gives him rides home when my car is busted, and tells him stories about owning your own business.
to every ‘leon’ out there—managers at fast food places, grocery stores, summer camps—thank you for being more than just a schedule on a wall.
you’re teaching our kids what work can be, and what kind of people they can be at work.
and to any mom sitting in a parking lot right now, watching her baby walk into a first interview with his shirt half‑tucked—take a breath.
sometimes the world really does show up with people who see what you’re trying to build and say,
‘come on in, kid. we’ll teach you the rest.’”
