Running Away from the Ice Cream Man

The past few weeks, I've heard the summertime melody of the ice cream truck passing by my house. Ah, what better conjures up memories of summer as a kid more than the visit of an ice cream truck? It remind me of innocence; it is the myth of happy American suburbia. I personally loved the ice cream man. In fact, the last time I heard his music I ran after him like this hilarious commercial. And when I heard his music a week ago, I had that same urge to chase after him, but now there is another urge: grab all neighboring children and run away like this fine group of individuals. It seems counter intuitive, right? Who runs away from delicious, icy treats on a hot summers day? Yet I feel this retreat is just as natural as the impulse to run towards the ice cream truck. Think about it: a stranger who drives a large refrigerated van - perfect for preserving who knows what- and passes out ice cream to innocent, unassuming children. Perhaps I've been watching too many Criminal Minds episodes, but it seems like the perfect profession for a sick individual. I also feel justified in my aversion, because this week I saw a ghetto minivan masquerading as a ice cream truck by plastering stickers of merchandise on the doors. At least this rouse was easy to spot. Argh, growing up is painfully disillusioning. Next someone is going to tell me that lemonade stands run by children is indoctrinating the young with the ruthless mentality of capitalism. The only possible way to deal with such disconcerting feelings about the innocent diversions of my youth? Go buy some ice cream - preferably from an ice cream man.