I had just moved into the new house
in the summer of ‘09’, a corner lot with plenty of grass to keep me busy mowing;
this was the summer where I learned how we, the people of America, had been
brainwashed. I had been outside doing
some gardening; OK I was looking at what had once been a garden prior to my
arrival and was now a large crop of weeds, which was probably marked to be
surveyed by the DNR, when I noticed a sudden increase in child activity from
the surrounding houses.
Children
were running back and forth across the street, relaying information to the each
other for some plan of attack on an unforeseen foe. A small boy bolted from the pack, riding his
transport across the rugged terrain; a two-wheeled pink girl’s Schwinn complete
with banana seat and pink rose print, the obvious misfortune of being the
youngest family member with a string of older sisters. After reaching the corner of the street he
turned around and sounded off the recon “Jenna it’s coming. I see it”.
Jenna was obviously the General in charge of this ragtag gang of
thirteen 5-8 yr olds and had already devised their plan of attack. “It’s coming, it’s coming” they were chanting
among themselves as anticipation flourished.
“Do you still see it? Is it
coming this way?” the General hailed back.
A shriek from the recon on his two wheeled steed rose up “YES!!!!”, and
they all began to jump and shout, a primal dancing circle formed until the
final sign appeared. It came across the
wind, a sound only a child can hear from 5 miles away, the song of the
ICE-CREAM-MAN. Sometimes a generic tune,
sometimes “POP-GOES-THE_WEASEL”, nonetheless a melodious sweet, succulent tune
that causes mothers to tremble and kids to salivate like Pavlovian dogs.
Jenna
spoke not a word; the children were working as one like in “THE VILLAGE OF THE
DAMMED”. They attacked not the Ice Cream
Man but shot to their respective houses to bombard their parents with every
promise conceivable to obtain money for the “MAN”. Advances on allowances had run out due to
previous visits from this sugar pusher.
They resorted to room cleaning and decrees of “I’ll never ask for
anything else ever again” or “I’ll be good for the rest of my life” The younger
members of the pack used consistent tugging on aprons followed by a string of
“Please, Please, Please, Please, Please……”
Inevitably the parents crumbled and with coins in hand they all began to
return to General Jenna and wait for their savior’s arrival. The youngest members stood on the opposite
corners, not allowed to cross the street, and had street runners bolt across
the road daring the speeding traffic that often comes with living down a dead
end lane.
They
stood at the edge of a driveway like a pack of hungry wolves. The novices would break from the group and run
towards the truck, but the elders knew it wouldn’t stop for them alone, only
for the pack. He pulled up to the curb
and killed the music; the Pied Piper had done his job, now he just had to
collect his booty. The children spent
every penny they had. Some stood with
purple and red popsicles that would liquefy to a sticky Kool Aid solution and
adhere to their chins, hands and shirts.
Others would consume theirs only moments after purchase. Young Jimmy laid there on the sidewalk, with
a blue, white and red stick clenched in his hand as purple drool ran from the
side of his mouth. These were the
remains of a Bomb Pop consumed too rapidly causing a cold headache leading to
temporary paralysis and a euphoric sugar coma.
The others were not startled by this occurrence seeing as how it was
common place for the young man. You see
Jimmy was a novice, having just moved from a more rural area where the MAN was
not to be seen as frequently, he had not yet learned the consequences of
substance abuse.
Jenna
“The General” moved to the front of the group, as her lessers parted in a show
of respect and servitude, and peered over the edge of the truck window. HE knew what she wanted; for this was the
sole reason she held power in this neighborhood. Being the eldest of the group she was privy
to many honors: latest curfew, no
training wheels, but most importantly the largest allowance. This allotment allowed her to purchase the
Holy Grail of ice cream, the coveted DOVE BAR.
This was her scepter of power and every subject wanted a lick of
it. Some begged, others pleaded, and the
sycophants threw empty praises. Minor
portions were distributed to the high ranking officials that were just below
her, the recon and the Major in charge of the street runners, but the bulk of
it remained with her.
As
Jenna began to consume the remaining parts of the bar the group began to
disband, first one would wander off, then two others ran back to continue a
game of hopscotch that had been previously interrupted. Others moved to jump rope or gathered
demolition crews to bring down sand castles that were aged and dilapidated,
being 30 minutes old their property value was almost nil. Jenna having finished her ice cream gave the
stick to one of the youngers, who trotted off displaying it in a trophy-like
manner. Jenna herself walked back to her
miniature lawn chair to watch over her domain.
I
suddenly felt a slight trickle down my chin and immediately realized that I too
had been salivating. I could not believe
the power that the Ice Cream Man still had over me. So strong was it that I immediately dropped
my shovel, jumped into my car and sped to the store. I purchased a quart of Mint Chocolate Chip
and returned home to begin its consumption, only it did not seem to elate me as
much as it had as a child. You see I was
older and now being able to buy what I wanted when I wanted it had taken the
anticipation out of the act. However I
am not one to be thwarted, now during the summer months I to listen for the Ice
Cream Man; and after hearing his melodious chimes, I run outside coin in hand
and join the rest of the children.
Although I have the means to buy the DOVE BAR and obtain power, I do
not. I feel that an outsider should not usurp
the natural order of things in this neighborhood. Besides….I like Nutty Buddies
