“Pop goes the Weasel”, I think that’s what it played. I just loved the sound – the tinny, musical sound of the ice cream truck as it came through our neighborhood. Oh, how glorious that was to my five and six-year-old little ears. Never did my feet move so fast as to run in and plead for money from my mom, and then just as quickly make my way back outside so I didn’t miss him.
I can still taste it…the wonderful, sickly sweet pseudo-citrus flavor of my orange sherbet push-pop! Oh, it was always the orange sherbet push-pop! With its bright white paper wrap covered in joyful little polka-dots, it beckoned to me! I was very loyal, and no other cool confection would do!
Then, suddenly, one day I blinked and had two little girls of my own running to the tinny music of that brightly painted truck. I can hear their feet charging across the floor as they let the door slam violently closed behind them. Soon two angelic little faces, with their large blue eyes and their long blonde hair look up, pleadingly, “Please, mom! Hurry, before he leaves!” I grab my purse even as I mumble under my breath…he always comes at dinner time and you just better eat your dinner. Money in hand, four little feet race back out the door, with the obligatory slamming in their wake.
I peek out the window at the gaggle of children that have gathered on “ice cream row” in front of our house. I see Popsicles and fudge-pops, ice cream sandwiches and two-scoop cones… frozen confections of every shape and size. Finally, I spot my two little blonde progeny, with sticky smiles on their faces. I search to see what’s in their hands and there – there I see it – the bright white wrappers covered with joyful little polka-dots – orange sherbet push-pops! My heart swells just a little. With a smile on my face I head back to the kitchen. I must have done something right…