I scream, you scream

Today while riding my bike down the street in my hood, I had the sudden realization that I was also hearing the familiar tune of the Ice Cream Truck echoing through the summer air. Though they each have their own unique choice of repetitive song (this one happened to be "Do Your Ears Hang Low," or "Do Your Boobs Hang Low" if you have the sense of humor of a 7th grader, like myself), all Ice Cream Trucks, to me, speak of childhood memories and a feeling of nostalgia for simpler times. It is so rare to see them around these days since I have been living in a big city one way or another for over ten years. Most of the places I have lived didn't even participate in Halloween candy-giving, so the chances of hearing the Ice Cream Truck come around were basically zero.

The neighborhood I am in now is probably one of the most family-friendly areas of Chicago, where people know each other well and have block parties and pick up each other's mail and all the streets are lined with lush green trees. My fiance and I are fortunate enough to rent a cheap place here so we sort of live on the fringe of all the homeowner bonding that happens around us, and that is fine by us. But it is really lovely here. If you can see past all the pug dogs and strollers and bored housewives roaming about, you can really appreciate how quiet and simple and friendly it is. And you can appreciate the fact that there is an Ice Cream Truck, really and truly, coming down the street to tempt the little ones with frosty treats. Of course, it's possible that no parent around here actually lets their child partake of the treats, for fear of strangers or molesters or poison or whatever because let's face it, we are still in the city of Chicago, after all. But the fact that the truck has been around our hood more than a few times this summer tells me that there are at least some people still willing to trust and give in to the summer tradition.

So the reason I bring this up is because today, after many other days of hearing the little song floating around the neighborhood in the afternoon, it finally registered with me how lucky I am to live in a big city and yet still have the cute and campy option to buy a little ice cream from the Ice Cream Man if I so desired. I have not had that option since probably twenty years ago. I feel like the Ice Cream Truck just stopped coming around my old neighborhood in my hometown after a certain point. I remember wondering what happened to him because he seemed to disappear while I was still the age where I would drop everything and run into the street to wait for him at the very hint of his song. Maybe our local guy stopped doing it. Or maybe my neighborhood got bad. Who knows. Whatever the case, I missed the Ice Cream Man once he was gone.

There are still a few more days of summer left. I don't want to miss the Ice Cream Man when he is gone come fall and winter. Next time I come out of the egocentric little haze I get into on my way home from work and I realize the truck is coming our way, I will kick off my shoes and run barefoot into the street to wait for the Ice Cream Truck to bring me a sweet summer memory once again. I promise.