That old raspberry sherbet

My mother's sister's only son was a year or so older than I was. When we were in the area, we frequently would spend the night at their house. My father, being a Depression-era child, would eat anything put before him as as a matter of almost-moral principle. We were raised in that tradition. So, on one occasion at my cousin's house, he went back to the freezer and pulled out and old carton of raspberry sherbet. It had been in there for who knows how long, to the point of being almost freezer-burned. He gave it to us and we eagerly woofed it down. We seldom got store-bought ice cream, so it was a real treat to us. For years my cousin would shake his head and marvel that we would eat that old raspberry sherbet.