Good Humour

You know you have finally attained adulthood when you no longer respond with the exuberant cry of joy at the sound of the ice cream man's mechanical tune, but with the icy shudder of annoyance.

Where I grew up, there were no ice cream men, those cheery little vans that cart delectable frozen treats. The closest I ever got to a vehicle carting ice cream treats was the Schwann man, and while I probably could have taken down a large box of ice cream sundae cones or rocket pops, I sure didn't carry that much cash on my person as a youngster. So I must have learned of the ice cream man from Leave it to Beaver or classic shows of that ilk because I have always associated those purveyors of yummy treats with times in the distant past that were more innocent and joyful. Who could resist, or even more absurdly, disdainfully deny, a simple ice cream treat?

Me. That's who.

Every evening around 4:00 or so the ice cream man rolls through our neighborhood in his van. The kids can hear the siren song of his mechanical ditties floating through the air from miles away, and immediately they dream of Spiderman ice creams with gumball eyes, prepackaged Sno cones (who ever has heard or such a thing?), or the classic ice cream sandwich. Now I'm not saying I didn't get a little excited the first or second time this fellow rolled down our lane. It was adorable introducing our hesitant little one to the ice cream man and choosing his first treat. But now I'm rueing the day I ever bought him that Spongebob Squarepants pop. Now Logan is an ice cream junkie, and I carry the guilt that I freely bought him his first frozen fix.

Two weeks ago, we were getting ready to leave for tumbling class. We were all outside; Logan was playing with the neighbors' kids, when all of a sudden, the tune rang out. Logan and the other kids went running to the end of the block, just like in those tv shows I used to watch, before I could even catch up with him. "No, Logan," I said, cursing the ice cream man under my breath. "We don't have time for an ice cream tonight. We have to go to tumbling class, and I can't let you eat an ice cream, clean you up, and make it there on time." I thought that excuse would work, not only because it was sincere; this kid loves tumbling class. Why would he allow an ice cream to make him miss any minute of it? Because ice cream is delicious. That's why. Thankfully, my neighbor decided to deny her kids a treat for that evening, too, and by the time we had them convinced, walked them back to our house, and stopped their whining, the ice cream man drove by our houses at a snail's pace just to rub salt in the wound. This guy is ruthless.

Tonight, Logan was at the park, playing happily, when that annoying little jingle rang out again. For a few minutes, he was so distracted trying to climb up the slide, he didn't even notice it. What luck! Oh, but as he ran to the jungle gym, he heard it. He stopped dead in his tracks and his head whirled in our direction, his mouth gaping wide. "It's the ice cream man!" He shouted. "Where is he?!"

"He's too far away right now, Logan. We can't see him," Eric and I explained. And it was true--he was several blocks away. "Ok, when he comes close, you catch him. Alright?" Logan said, pointing his finger at us. "Ok, Logan. But we don't have any money with us right now. Maybe we'll see him when we get back home. Why don't you go down the slide again?" We said, and I felt a little guilty as I hoped Logan would play at the park just long enough for the ice cream man to pass by our empty house.