The Jig is Up

Ever since my son could talk, he has referred to the ice cream truck as the "happy truck." What a nice notion: a van whose sole purpose is to drive through neighborhoods spreading joy through song. We never taught him the phrase happy truck. Connor came up with that moniker on his own. We just never bothered to correct him. And in doing so, for the past not-quite 5 years that Caleb and I have been parents, we have not had to shell out a single cent to the ice cream truck.

As of last night, the jig is up. Since the weather was so beautiful, we decided to take the kids for a post-dinner walk through the subdivision. We could hear the ice cream truck, but we couldn't see it. That is, until we turned the corner onto a different street. We walked down the hill, me hoping that the people would quickly make their purchases and disband, Connor hoping to get an up close glimpse of the community marvel that is (was) the "happy truck".

Mind you, it's not as though Caleb and I have been sneaking our children around and dodging the ice cream truck all this time. Typically, the truck isn't out and about in our neighborhood that late in the evening. It tends to make its rounds somewhere between 4 and 6 p.m., when we are busy inside the house making dinner. The kids will hear it, and run to the window to watch. But, no one on our street usually buys. So we've managed to avoid the it without incident--until now.

The ice cream truck pulled away from the throng of people, but the damage was done. Our neighbor (another boy named Connor) saw us walking and he came over to us to show off his Spider-Man dessert that was beginning to melt onto his hand. We politely acknowledged him and quickly pushed the stroller forward.

As we moved away from all the drumsticks, push-ups, popsicles and Spider-Man ice creams, our Connor kept asking us what neighbor-Connor had. Caleb tried to perpetuate our little subterfuge (not lie--subterfuge...), but Connor would not be ignored. When Caleb said he didn't know what neighbor-Connor had, our Connor insisted that Daddy did indeed know.

Our Connor was right. Caleb did know that the Spider-Man treat was ice cream. We could no longer let our children be the only two in America who did not know the true function of the ice cream truck. The happy truck facade was rapidly crumbling. We had been forced to let the cat out of the bag.

I now foresee years of being begged for money every time we hear that annoying "Hell-O-ooo" from the vehicle-formerly-known-as-happy. Too bad for our kids that we don't usually have much cash on hand. It might be time to start allowances. The kids will have to start singing for their supper--or at least earning their ice creams.