The ice (cream) man cometh

As a child, the sweetest sound of summer was the gentle jingle jingle of bells off in the distance signaling the impending arrival of the Good Humor Ice Cream Man (it was always a man back then).

We kids would drop everything we were doing and rush to our moms or dads, clamoring for nickels or dimes so we could buy an ice cream treat. My mom would typically be engrossed in another activity, requiring me to quickly learn the art of "creating an increased sense of urgency".

To this day, the distant jingle of an ice cream truck brings on a Pavlovian response in me, causing increased salivation and a need to tear about the house in a frenzied search for loose change.

The "ice cream truck jingle reaction" was triggered today when the above ice cream van came down our street. Sure, it's a far cry from the classic white Ford trucks with the big blue Good Humor logos on them and the mysterious deep freeze compartment from which the ice cream man would reach way, way in and magically come out with the exact ice cream you requested. And our local ice cream vendor here is not quite as dapper as the Good Humor men of yore in their crisp white uniforms and hats. My response to the bell, however, was visceral. I ran out to the street to gauge his distance, estimating how much time I had to come up with some cash. I raced up and down the hallway as if searching for someone to dole out a dime despite the fact that: 1) I have my own money now, and 2) there's no such thing as 10 cent ice cream anymore.

I can recall on the day of our Good Humor man's last run for the summer, I convinced him to give all the kids on our block free ice cream for being such regular customers. As his truck pulled up, bells jingling, we kids stood at the curb and shouted in unison, "We want free ice cream."

Subtle, no? It worked!

Strawberry shortcake