I remember very few times growing up when my Dad got me something from the Ice Cream Truck. Mostly it was because we lived out in the country, and the Ice Cream Truck did not come by very often. The fact that we lived a good distance from the road probably played a major role as well. By the time we first heard the music we had better be sprinting for the road, or we were out of luck.
Not surprisingly, the few times that my Dad did buy me ice cream from the Ice Cream Truck are very special to me.
RJ and I were playing catch outside (and I say this because we do play catch indoors from time to time) when we heard the music. RJ very excitedly said that the Ice Cream Man was coming. We continued to play ball.
The more I heard the music and remembered how special those few times were to me, the more excited I got. After a good ten minutes of listening to “Pop Goes the Weasel,” I could not take it anymore. I dashed inside to grab my wallet, and RJ and I made a mad dash for the Ice Cream Truck.
We made it just in time, as they were just starting to pull away. At this point, I do not know who was more excited, me or RJ.
As I picked the boy up so he could tell the lady what he wanted, he said that I had to have some, too. How could I resist. We received our ice cream, and RJ said. “Thank you.”
We headed back to our apartment. We sat down on the stoop and opened our ice cream. For twenty minutes we made the most glorious sticky mess imaginable, sharing each otherâ€™s treat, and showing each other our very blue tongues.
I sincerely hope that the memories of these little moments between father and son will shape RJâ€™s life as much as they have shaped mine.