SPEED

There’s nothing quite like

the adrenaline rush

of going all-out, bare-foot

behind the ice cream truck.

* Sadly, the beloved ice cream truck seems to be strictly relegated now days only to depressed neighborhoods. That’s too bad. How do they rate, anyway? The only thing going up and down my street is the FedEx truck and the pampered house dog for his twice daily walk. What do those neighborhoods have that we don’t?

Dry, barren yards, driveways hosting old cars up on blocks and enough old furniture piled up in the sagging, paint-peeling carport to furnish an entire room, trash piled up against drooping chain link - and lots of little children. Happy little children who gleefully rush the Lará Brother’s helados van with the same passion we did so long ago on Jellico Ave.

The music blaring from the van is no longer the universal “Little Red Wing” in bell tones from a loftily perched megaphone speaker, but is – well, anything! I’ve heard country, rap, pop, heavy metal rock, musak, campesino and sometimes even just the AM radio on really loud. Inventory has definitely changed. They sell baseball cards, candy, carnival toys, stick-on tattoos and bubble gum just for starters.

The prices are a lot different, too. A nickel used to get me a delicious banana double stick Popsicle or a delectably creamy 50/50 bar. A king’s ransom of a dime was needed for the prized favorite: the multi-flavored Bullet Popsicle. When my oldest daughter was little in the early ’80’s, Bullets were a quarter. Now, almost everything is a dollar.

That’s just wrong.