As a little girl I had a list of things that fascinated me and most of them had to do with living in larger cities. That’s the only place they had public transportation like buses and subways, shopping at all hours of the day, and things like ice cream trucks that would roam neighborhoods and feed children sweet treats.
No, we didn’t have a subway in Cavalier and ice cream trucks never came to our farm.
Maybe that’s why I am so obsessed with the ice cream trucks in Fargo. They still fascinate me. Last summer while our windows sat wide open and the sun shined down, I heard a tinny, music box melody coming down the street. It played over and over again – the same song.
Thankfully ice cream trucks move quite slowly, so I was able to step outside and just watch it drive by, waiting for the neighborhood children (and adults) to step forward with their cash.
For me, the novelty has yet to wear off. And I must say, I am impressed with the mental strength of the ice cream truck drivers – that same song over and over throughout the day would drive me crazy. I guess they can find comfort through ice cream. That always helps.
This “ice cream truck” business is still a new experience for some. In fact, the last time my sister-in-law visited she experienced her first ice cream truck sighting. She was so excited to see if the driver would actually stop that she yelled, “HEY!” as he drove by. Then she ran up the drive way to avoid his glances. I really think she wanted a Klondike bar. Maybe next time.
The day after she left I heard that well played song roaming through the neighborhood and I wanted to snap a picture for her. I waited for the truck to get close and what I witnessed made my day.
I raised my camera to take a photo and all of a sudden a child entered the frame. He was about 5-years-old, wearing khaki pants and a lime green polo shirt. His little blond head bounced up and down as he ran down the sidewalk, chasing that ice cream truck. The driver spotted him and stopped on the corner.
Can you see him running?!
The little boy had to wait for his family – and his mother who had the money – but he could hardly contain himself. I couldn’t see the family right away but watching the little boy was a riot. He looked at the truck and then down the street, terrified that the truck would leave before his extremely slow family arrived.
He scratched his backside with one hand and waved at the driver with his other. Then he would look down the street again. It seemed he couldn’t keep his eyes on both the truck and his family so his little head darted back and forth, back and forth. Meantime his arms were flailing in exasperation – over his head and then down to his sides.
Would his mother ever arrive?
“MOM, c’mon!”
And then she did, with his little sister in tow. Once that little boy got his ice cream, he seemed to relax significantly and just focus on the cool treat he had in his hands. I guess that’s how it’s supposed to work.
I’m going to have to sit out on the porch more often.