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Episode 52: Scream for Ice Cream

Writer's picture: Kristin LindstromKristin Lindstrom

Nothing says summer better than the Good Humor ice cream truck. You can hear it coming from a few blocks away. It rolls right down 78th Street and stops halfway.

I hear it coming but realize I don’t have any money. My brothers are out. My parents are taking a nap. My mother’s purse is not hanging on the regular peg in the kitchen. All of us dip into the purse from time to time, or snatch a couple quarters from John’s change can. Never enough to notice, we think. Who would notice the impact of four dippers in your wallet?


The ice cream truck is coming closer. I can hear its little jingle more clearly. I make a snap decision. I must carry out a commando raid on either Mom’s purse or the change can in the bedroom. I race upstairs and listen at the door. Nothing. I quietly open the door and drop to my hands and knees. I’m almost to the purse when I hear a sharp intake of breath and an oath.

I look over my shoulder to the horrifying sight of my mother and John NAKED. John’s on top of her. Whaaaaaaaaa? I begin backing up as fast as I can on my hands and knees heading for the door but Mom’s faster. She pulls on a robe while John covers himself with the sheet.

“Oh honey,” Mom says. “Don’t be afraid, let us explain this to you.”

Gah!

She pulls me up onto the bed and gives me an extensive, soft-peddled explanation about sex and love. John sits by, nodding his head.

But all I care about is the ice cream truck!! I hear it! It sounds like it’s beginning to go away. I have the urge to slap my hands over my ears and shout, Hya, Hya, Hya, Hya, anything to stop the sound of my mother’s voice.

For God’s sake, Mom. Don’t you hear the ice cream truck? I’m going to miss it," shrieks in my head.

I don’t know how long we are suspended in this awkward, embarrassing scene. All I want is to bust out and run to the truck, but I already know I won’t make it in time. Plus, I never made it as far as Mom's purse, so I'm broke.

Finally the torture ends. I leave the room and close the door behind me.

Really? With four kids in the house, you don’t lock the door?


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