Summers were long and hot, and they seemed to last forever. There was no other season that could compare to summer. My fun was found running through a neighbor’s sprinkler, engaging in water fights, riding my bike all over the free world, and dreaming up new adventures in the sanctity of a homemade fort, or under a shady spot.
Summer also brought ice cream; I truly believe that ice cream was invented only for summer—the correct season in which to indulge. One of the best things that summer ever produced was the ice cream man; I heard his jingling bell from blocks away giving my friends and me ample time to go inside begging for nickels. When his scooter truck turned on my block, the wind-up sound of the little engine as it accelerated, then came to a stop, was music to my ears.
Pure poetry in motion this ice cream man was; in the freezer box on the back were frozen delights of pure chocolate, fruit flavored layers, double-stick Popsicle wonders and Nutty Buddy delights. Hordes of kids came running out waving arms to get his attention as if the notion of him passing us by was within the realm of possibility. But he never passed us by, and to this day, I can still hear that jingling bell and feel the scorching asphalt under my bare feet as I ran out to invest whatever coins I had in his product.
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