Dead solid perfect, man. My kids are in their mid-20s, and I *still* stopped a dog walk to take a picture of the ice cream truck and text it to them the first time I saw Fred in the neighborhood this spring. It's not an overstatement to say he was the clinching factor on buying our house 23 years ago. We were over here to look at the place and getting a good vibe, when we heard the truck about two blocks away and that sealed the deal that it was the sort of neighborhood (and cocoon) we hoped to provide for our boys. And, yes, we're on a first name basis with our ice cream guy. Everyone is. He has been working this area since 1983 and seen several generations of children grow up. He knows when the rest breaks are at every neighborhood swim club and the game ending times for all local rec soccer league matches. He's also the sort of guy who will spot a kid a snow cone and collect next time. He's a treasure -- a bit of smalltown America in the DC suburbs. He now has three trucks (his kids drive the other two), and I hope he keeps them running as long as I live here, even if I'm not much of a customer any more.
But man, did you hit the nail on the head. Our daughter is 2 and she can be a TERROR. She's a feral animal akin to a Lord of the Flies character.
/Steven A Smith voice "HOWEVAH!"
She will also drop whatever she's doing and sprint to me and demand " 'Moochies! " when I pull in the driveway. It's the best, and I can't wait to see what and who she becomes.
Me, to myself reading this, reminiscing about childhood summers: "ah, those idyllic, Watsonian days of endless adventure, the whole world composed of mysteries from the smallest fiber upward..."
Your son, about to wallop me in the gut like an overeager stage fighting trainee: "I'm worried about Ant-y"
Me, curled up sobbing: "Too Watsonian! Too Watsonian!"
I get that preserving the kids in amber. Baby is 9 months right now and if i could hit a button to make her stop aging I'd break my thumb on that thing
Dead solid perfect, man. My kids are in their mid-20s, and I *still* stopped a dog walk to take a picture of the ice cream truck and text it to them the first time I saw Fred in the neighborhood this spring. It's not an overstatement to say he was the clinching factor on buying our house 23 years ago. We were over here to look at the place and getting a good vibe, when we heard the truck about two blocks away and that sealed the deal that it was the sort of neighborhood (and cocoon) we hoped to provide for our boys. And, yes, we're on a first name basis with our ice cream guy. Everyone is. He has been working this area since 1983 and seen several generations of children grow up. He knows when the rest breaks are at every neighborhood swim club and the game ending times for all local rec soccer league matches. He's also the sort of guy who will spot a kid a snow cone and collect next time. He's a treasure -- a bit of smalltown America in the DC suburbs. He now has three trucks (his kids drive the other two), and I hope he keeps them running as long as I live here, even if I'm not much of a customer any more.
Made me think of the time my husband heard the jingle of the ice cream truck. The kids were all grown and out of the house.
Ted heard the jingle, grabbed his wallet and hurried to the curb. No sign of the truck but the jingle ???
His mouth was watering!!
Rats...no ice cream for Ted....the jingle was his brand new cell phone!!! Ha ha!
Mugger money? You want it? GO GET IT!
Street Smarts!
I did an actual spit take at the last line.
But man, did you hit the nail on the head. Our daughter is 2 and she can be a TERROR. She's a feral animal akin to a Lord of the Flies character.
/Steven A Smith voice "HOWEVAH!"
She will also drop whatever she's doing and sprint to me and demand " 'Moochies! " when I pull in the driveway. It's the best, and I can't wait to see what and who she becomes.
If you saw the variety and quantity of ice cream treats we have in the fridge you'd think we had six kids instead of a dog and a cat.
That was quite the ending.
A great read. Brings back many memories.
Me, to myself reading this, reminiscing about childhood summers: "ah, those idyllic, Watsonian days of endless adventure, the whole world composed of mysteries from the smallest fiber upward..."
Your son, about to wallop me in the gut like an overeager stage fighting trainee: "I'm worried about Ant-y"
Me, curled up sobbing: "Too Watsonian! Too Watsonian!"
I get that preserving the kids in amber. Baby is 9 months right now and if i could hit a button to make her stop aging I'd break my thumb on that thing
Something tells me the HOA would hear ALL the complaints if an ice cream truck ever strolled down our lane. Buncha fuddy-duddies.
And that punchline at the end, actual guffaw.