The other day I heard a sound I had not heard in many decades . . . an ice cream truck. These trucks are very uncommon these days, but in my neighborhood in the 1960s its inviting, tinkling sound coming up the street was more than a small child could bear.
In the summertime, Mom had us children napping every afternoon until we were older--maybe 7 or 8. It seemed that just as I was trying to nod off, I heard the slow moving ice cream truck's music coming from a long way away. My anxiety grew everytime I could tell it had stopped for a child who had purchased a special frozen treat. My mom hardly ever let me go out and buy an ice cream, but sometimes if the tooth fairy had recently come and left me a nickle, she would let me run out.
The sound of the ice cream truck brought back happy memories for me. Maybe next time I hear the musicbox-like tunes coming again, I will run out and treat myself to a cone. I am sure it will cost more than a nickle.
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