The end of summer deserves an homage to the neighborhood Ice Cream Truck. When we were kids, we loved the ice cream truck. We would search for change in the couch cushions and in the cracks of sidewalks. That truck and it's sweet sounding tunes was like a mobile miracle.
And then one day, my oldest brother was on his way back across the street after buying a tasty, cool summer treat when he was hit by a truck. It was bad. We almost lost him. He's always been a fighter though and he pulled through just fine.
The worst thing was, when my Aunt Sally picked me up from school, I knew something was terribly wrong. My Mom always, and I mean always, picked me up. Aunt Sally told me what had happened and the first thing that my 6 year old mind thought of was, "I bet he was on my bike." He was. I was six. And I was pissed. Anger quickly turned to total grief as soon as I realized the seriousness of the accident. I spent the next six years asking God for forgiveness for my selfishness. And being grateful that my brother survived.
The bike deserves a nod just because. It was green with a banana seat and a cissy bar. Not so great now that I'm describing it, but to me, it was like a Range Rover. But my brother was like Conan, the Barbarian. Super tough.
Follow my rambling, people, it's going somewhere, I promise. This evening, I was sitting outside on the deck, enjoying the early fall weather teaser, when I heard it again...the most evil sounding ice cream truck in the universe. My neighborhood ice cream truck. The music box on the truck must be broken because it plays a creepy sounding song, ALL IN MINOR CHORDS. For the love of God, an ice cream truck playing music in all minor chords? Give me a butcher knife! Where's the LSD? WHO WANTS TO BUY THIS CREEPY ICE CREAM AND WHAT KIND OF SICKO DRIVES THIS TRUCK?
Screw ice cream trucks...I hate them.