Late in the day yesterday the topic of Ice Cream Trucks came up.
I suggest Dale would excel at driving an ice cream truck. I can just picture him in a snappy white uniform and bow tie borrowed from Tom Keefe. Best of all rather than playing tinny tunes on an amplified xylophone, he could play the The Galaxy song followed by Tom Waits!
I love Ice Cream Trucks!
But what an awkward business to be in. You drive through peaceful neighborhoods, a stranger with a truckload of treats who is trolling for innocent, impressionable customers, playing your music as loud as possible, knowing full well you are sparking parent – child arguments in every other house up an down the street.
“You already had ice cream with dinner!”
“But Daaaaaad. It’s the MR. WHIPPY truck!”
“That stuff is too expensive!”
“Everybody else is getting some!”
And so on.
At the wheel of an Ice Cream Truck you are potentially powerful outside actor in both the dark and the light realms of family dynamics. You are an Attractive Nuisance, a Harmony Destroyer, a Child’s Best Friend and a Lasting Memory Maker, sometimes all in the same visit.
As a parent, I’m sorry to say I was an Ice Cream Truck Grinch.
As a kid, I loved it best in the late summer evenings when the truck would be all lit up and I’d stand in line, full of anticipation, clutching my dollar while I looked over the menu. Ice Cream Sandwich, Drumstick or Toffee Nut Crunch Bar? The street rang with the sound of laughter and bells, mosquitoes buzzed around yellow lights, and the air was full of the smell of custard and exhaust.
Listen! The Ice Cream Truck is coming!