The ice cream truck

I was just reading a nostalgic piece on summertime and ice cream trucks. I too remember a hot summer's evening, sitting outside with the family and hearing the ice cream truck. You'd hear the little song and you'd confiscate money from Dad and run out to the street ready to buy ice cream. The ice cream, usually on a stick, was bought and quickly eaten with our order for mother in tow. I liked coconut on the outside.

Overpriced and inconvenient (right after every one had already had dessert) it must be a pain to be a parent when you hear that song. If you give in you're out eight dollars. If you are firm the kids are screaming and crying. The act like they are being doused in hot oil.

I remember it was a pleasant Saturday night and Mother was giving me my bath. I heard that little jingle and burst into wailing and crying. I had missed the Good Humour truck. Downstairs later and eating scooped ice cream from the fridge, the incident was over. My tears had dried and I was clean. And Dad still had that change where it belonged. In his pocket.