Everytime I think about the piragua truck, I think about my great uncle. He was one of the best male influences in my life, even though he passed away when I was very young. I don't have many memories of him, but I do remember him being a very kind man. He had such great respect for the women of our family.
I also remember him pushing the piragua cart down Warwick street in Brooklyn, stopping by my abuela's house. I remember asking for a piragua -- and I'd always chose the strawberry flavor. That never changed.
After he passed, I still had piraguas -- some people called them "snow cones" or "icees." I internally call them "memories."