Good Humor

There are a swarm of kindergarten girls running to and fro on this playground. Each tethered only to her own thoughts.  Performing as a group in one instant and in the next merely a number of solo acts. Then suddenly, as if by magic, all securely attached by a singular focus. One that could not be broken, bent or even nudged.

I was tasked with watching, from a safe and sane distance, one of those scurrying about. There were four others in this posse. All of whom were familiar with Papa but paid him less attention than a piece of paper crumpled on the ground. 

In the days of my youth it was known as the Good Humor truck. When its tune turned the corner and appeared within earsight, the rest of the universe disappeared. 

My young ward found my location and sprinted towards me with glee in her eyes and a trampoline bounce in every step. Soon all her friends followed. I was now a person of consequence. For I had announced I would buy ice cream for all of them.

The temperature was hovering on the short side 50. The wind making its presence known. I was dressed in enough clothes to ward off a winter storm. These girls were, as one, attired merely in tee shirts and pants. Obviously residing in a different universe than I. And now they were adding ice cream to the mix. Just by way of exclamation point.

The moms of the other children in this collection had graciously consented to my stealing the spotlight. We headed, as one, to the truck with pictures on the side of its contents that awaited consumption.

My granddaughter chose the picture with the most sugar per bite known to man. Ever. The others selected, if not wisely, at least with less chance of immediate frantic escalation. Once the last lick or bite was complete, the crew returned to their regularly scheduled program. Still, bizarrely, somehow warm on the outside.

The world has changed immensely since I was five years old. It often seeming that we are the same species in name only. Everything that was a given in those days having long since become but faint memory. Existing only in the history books.

Except for one immutable: a child's response to the sound of an ice cream truck approaching.