I can remember the sound so distinctively. I would be playing in the backyard with Vanessa. Maybe having a tea party, or playing house or
bossing her around…or reenacting the latest Little House on the Prairie episode and off in the distance the melodious notes would resound. Starting softly, getting a little louder and then fading off again as it turned down the next street.
We would RUN…as fast as we could. Scrounging up loose change. Begging mom for just one more $1.00. Can you imagine how much we spent on ice cream at a $1 a day times two…all summer long!?
As we turned our ears to the window listening for the approaching melody we would RACE outside to the curb. It might be a rendition of “Pop Goes the Weasel” or the classic “Mister Softee Song” but the sound was so distinctive, there was no mistaking it.
I would wait my turn in line, shuffling from foot to foot, while eyeing the side of the truck like a fine dining establishment menu. Did I want a firecracker pop or a Mickey Mouse? A Drumstick or a Snow Cone? But like so many often do, I felt the pull once again to hand over my sweaty change pressed into my palm and order my favorite.
An Orange Creamsicle.