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Spring. The time of new life and new beginnings. Birds sing again, trees blossom, flowers bloom, and people of every race,c reed, age, nationality, and sexuality fall in love. It's a unique time of year that leaves you with a feeling unparalleled anywhere else in life. So, with all of this beauty and majesty flourishing on my very doorstop, you may wonder why I've chosen to pay tribute to this glorious season by writing an ode to the ice cream truck. You'll probably wonder that the whole time you're reading this. Then you'll sit and ponder it for awhile after you've finished . You may even have trouble sleeping tonight. The answer to the question posed is a bit complex. Have you ever tried to get ketchup out of a bottle, but it won't budge, so you poked a fork in to try and coax it out? Well, that's kind of how this is. If you poke the ketchup brain with the fork of absurdity, chances are something interesting will result. If not, at least you have something to dip your fries in. Another reason that I'm writing is that I'm bored. My knight in shining armor had some errands to do at Sears, and my savior is getting Chinese food at Hunan Springs. So I decided it would be nice to go outside and enjoy the splendor of spring. But that was too much trouble, so I just looked out the window. And there it was. Emerging over the crest of the hill in all of its frozen dairy products glory, with its little bell ringing and its irritating little song heralding its triumphant return at full volume. Neighbors by the bucketful began popping out of their homes,like ground hogs out on the prairie. What draws us to this pile of scrap metal on wheels, driven by an indifferent, acne-ridden high school kid who is just trying to get money for college? He's scarcely aware that the mother load he is transporting brings such joy to so many. There was a question somewhere back before my mental train jumped the track and chased Harrison Ford down a hill, and truthfully I don't know the answer. Maybe it's the song. An anthem, sustained in the hearts of all the hot, sweaty yard workers out there, offering them asylum, even for just a few precious moments. Or maybe it's the big ice cream cone-headed man smiling affectionately at you from the hood. The world may never know what causes the attraction, but it is inherent in all of us. Therefore, never send to know for whom the bell on the ice cream truck tolls; it tolls for thee. --Steph Grace |
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