I Scream, You Scream, We All Scream For Ice Cream

Reminicing today about my childhood. It’s Father’s Day and naturally so many memories of those childhood days are revisited. My Mother, who was the primary parent at home, left the games, and activities to my Dad. I knew that he had to rest a few hours when he got back from work. Mom never taught me the crafts and games she was great at, I just kind of learned some of the things through observation.

Dad taught me to ride a two wheeler, horseback ride, roller skate, ice skate, and make up crazy treasure hunts and scavenger hunts.

One thing they both loved was ice cream. It was omnipresent in our home. I too loved ice cream, in fact I still do. To me it is better than cake or pie or cookies. In the summertime, I was less restricted with my ice cream intake, but in the winter it was rationed out carefully. My sister, and my parents were quite thin people! My sister was never, ever fat or plump! My Dad did develop a big belly, but that sadly was from disease, not overeating.

When I was very little, three years old, to be exact, in warm weather, at a certain time of day, all the kids in the neighborhood would wait for the Bungalow Bar Ice Cream Truck! The ice cream delights would driven down the block playing a tune, so that everyone would grab there money and head out to the curb. I lived on a narrow, one way street. One afternoon, my mother gave me my quarter, and the rest of the money to my sister. Her job was supposed to be, to not let me off the porch and approach the truck! I clearly remember sitting on the porch, clutching my quarter. The melody started and the customers started to stand on the side walk waiting for the truck to approach and stop. Cars were parked on both sides of the street.

My sister was was 10 years old and she was nearby jumping rope with some other, “big” girls. I was trying to calculate how far the truck was from the porch I was sitting on. I couldn’t stand it anymore, I left the porch and went to the street . The “bungalow” was made to look like a square little house sitting on top of wheels. There were windows , and one of them was where the driver sold the ice cream. You would shout out your order, and presto! He would hand it to you. He was very friendly and said hello and goodbye to all of us.

My sister hadn’t budged from the jump rope game, I was getting nervous. I made a decision to go down and get her, but all she did was yell at me. I took matters into my own hands. I joined the kids of the side of the block and pushed my way to the front of the mob. I wanted that ice cream!

I couldn’t see anything, the cars were too high and big for me to see the truck. Finally I pushed my way inbetween two parked cars and took a step out.

The truck had just reached the place I was standing. I didn’t see it until I stepped into the street. He was going very very slowly and when I took another step, WHACK. The bumper hit me. I went down like a sack of potatoes. I could hear the driver get out of the car. He then got down and looked under. I was lying flat on the street with this truck thing over me.

My sister saw what happened and realizing it was me, she ran up the stairs to our apartment and screamed that I had fallen down! My mother who was just dried off from a shower answered, “Well tell her to get up!.”

My sister told her I couldn’t because the truck was on top of me. My mother grabbed whatever to get clothing on herself and ran down with my sister. In the meantime, the driver realized I wasn’t hurt, but I was stunned. He screamed at me and told me not to move. He got back in the car and moved it forward. I could see the vehicle glide over me, with only several inches to spare, or at least that is what it looked like to me. When he was clear of my body he stopped and got our again. He ran around to the back of the truck where I still was laying down. I remember reaching for him with my hand. In it, was the quarter. At that moment my Mother came flying downstairs. I can’t imagine what was going through her head, but I knew, no matter what the outcome, I was going to get spanked. I remember the doctor who told me I was a lucky little girl, I remember a policeman who told me the same thing. I remember finally getting the ice cream, and I have no recollection going to a hospital. When the situation was over, when all the excitement calmed down, when I was back up in the apartment, I remember the spanking. I didn’t care, the ice cream was delicious. Strangely, my sister didn’t get a spanking! The Bungalow Bar Truck continued to come each day for the rest of the summer. No one, child, or adult ever went into the street until the driver stopped, turned off the truck and opened the “window” to the “store.” I was banned from going anyplace near the truck. It definitely cut down on my ice cream treats. Eventually we moved away from that neighborhood and never saw a Bungalow Bar ice cream truck again.

By the way, they used that ice cream trick on me when I had to take my tonsils out! I was promised all the ice cream I could eat! They never said my throat would hurt too much to eat any!