nothing special

it's pretty rare to hear the melodious chimes of the ice-cream truck these days, (it's quite amazing how time changes things) but hearing it today before heading to work brought back memories of old and thoughts of the present.

as a little kid every ding or dong i would hear randomly, would ignite all senses to concentrate on analysing whether it was an ice-cream truck; you probably did it too alright! slowly as the ding became louder through each cycle, all hope, both fingers and toes crossed while closing eyes to concentrate, i'ld wish that the same ding would follow the distintive tune of what i had only dreamt of. saliva starts building as it would be only time where tongue meets the sweet tastes of sugary iced cream and wafer cones between teeth chewing. too close to be certain, the tone gets softer and although i'm pretty certain that my senses were correct, when realising the truck had turned in a street before yours, heartache is all that is felt (and sore fingers and toes).

sometimes i would go through all that and instead, the tones were now so distintive that the ice-cream truck can be visible. i would stand a few metres from my bedroom curtains and look at it as it drove by, now too far to be chased down, maybe only if i ran. as it would pass by, i would remember of the last time i had asked the kind man for a double scoop of chocolate, dipped in a hardend chocolate coating and paying 2.70 for it. everytime i did i made myself believe it were only a few weeks back ago and that it would be too early to ask mum again (i always made my little sister, whom would be beside me, to ask mum if she could have ice-cream which automatically got me one as well, i hated getting no's from mum and knowing mum hated saying it.)

i remember it was probably one of our hardest couple of months. mum was making barely any money on her own and had to keep up with bills and monies to feed us while we were at school. we would have 'find all the money' days where my sister and i would split up and find as much change as we could from the house. the piggy bank would be first raided, then all the pockets from school pants, under couch cushions, in the car and the little nooks and kranies here and there. the change would be used to buy a one litre bottle of milk, half a loaf of bread and some ham most of the time.

one day, the same tune played, and now a little older we'ld begin to start understanding a little bit more about how hard mum works. excited inside, i'ld never show it, although it would be hard to stop my little sister blurting out, 'oi ly, is that the ice-cream truck?'. having mum definately hearing what she said as well as the sweet soft melodies, we would find her calling to us as she opened the garage door and headed towards the road. too excited already, we would race to the front (where i would leave my little sister in my dust) and see mum standing there waving down the truck. i always felt embarrased doing that, with all the neighbours looking but it was kind of a good thing as it attracted people to come (maybe that's why it sometimes missed our street?) a chocolate cone covered in chocolate and a vanila cone covered in hundreds and thousands announced in broken english would be followed by an exchange of a handful of 5 and 10 cents. my neighbour would always get a thickshake and we always left before hearing what the lady across the road orderd.

it's kinda funny how ice-cream trucks come at the most strangest times. those hot summers days where sweat feels like cling wrap and ice turns into little nipples within a matter of minutes, i'ld long await for the similar tunes to be rung which would raid the air. but no, no ice-cream truck can be seen or even heard.

today was a moderate, a little humid but bearable day, nothing really special about it. at about 4 o'clock i'ld think most kids would be playing at home in their school uniforms but none of my street. nostalgia ran through me as i heard the chimes. 13 years later i still feel excited that the same truck (although the panels are now glass windows and the paint retouched) playing the same melody and having the little picture of the ice-cream cone dipped in chocolate which can be seen beside the side window drive by. still, i stand a few metres from the window as i watched the truck go.

'it's a little stink to think of how you were back in the day compared to how you are now', i told mum just after the truck drove by. while she slowly swung on her hammock she asked me why. i explained that when i was little, i would watch the truck when it came in range and wished so hard that i had an ice-cream but didn't want to ask you. just as a reaction, mum asked me if i wanted money for some ice-cream. i replied with a 'no mum' and a slight chuckle and continued, 'and now that i'm old, with a job, and although not the richest person, can afford a few ice-cream cones if i wanted to, but i don't want to anymore. with mum reminiscing now too, i told her, maybe im getting too old, and she replied your getting too old?, and followed it with an attempted smile.

i thought to myself, i don't feel the passion i remember having while i was young. i could eat a thousand ice-creams and would still not feel as happy as i did when i got one from mum who gathered all our loose change, while we were doing it hard, to shout us one when she knew we really really wanted one.

i don't want to grow older. not that im scared of missing out the joys of being young, although i do miss it, but because that every year i grow older, so does my mum and a year less i have to pay back all that she has given to us. next time i hear that truck drive by, i'm going to shout mum one, i hope she likes it.