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In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “The Transporter.”

Tell us about a sensation — a taste, a smell, a piece of music — that transports you back to childhood.

I was shopping the other day and I heard a familiar cadre of notes that sounded similar to something I could play on a toy xylophone.  I paused and I remember craning my neck to search outside for the source of my déjà vu.  There it was in all its candy colored glory, slowly travelling down the street, biding time until the haunting melodies drew the masses into the streets.

A part of me wanted to run outside and scream, “Ice cream!” but the grown up side stayed put.

In my adolescent years, I lived in a very small town.  I am not sure how he broke even with the drive it took to get there, but we did get to experience the ice cream truck, albeit not as often as other larger towns.  Maybe that is why it was such a treat; it didn’t become so familiar and expected.

When you are anywhere from about 3 to 13 (well 13 if your friends weren’t around), the minute you heard that tinkling refrain, you yelled, “Moooommmmm! It’s the ice cream man!!” and then it took all of the patience you could muster to wait for her to find her purse and dole out the coins.  Yes, I said coins. I’m almost 50.

We always sidled up to the truck together with mom or granny or someone looking on.  We come from a family that was VERY thorough regarding stranger danger.  Sometimes my imagination took me for a wild ride of possibilities between that creepy music and the grinning cones, and what the ice creams man’s motives might be if he weren’t a nice guy.  Yes, parents, this is what we do to our children in the name of safety.

The hardest thing of all was choosing what you wanted.  There was strawberry shortcake and chocolate éclairs, bomb pops, drumsticks and fudgsicles and ice cream sandwiches.  Inevitably, you were going to wish you had picked what your brother or sister picked but if everyone was getting along, you might just get a taste of theirs anyway.

The excitement was short lived.  You finished your cone and it was back to reality; no more tinkling music and choosing of sweet dairy delights.  You always knew it would be back another day though and that was enough.  That is one of the things I miss about childhood; I was easily excited by the simplest things.