Soon after we moved into our new home this summer, I heard the distant but unmistakable sounds of an ice cream truck. By my best estimates, it was still several blocks away and I had plenty of time to scramble the kids outside for a nice cold respite from the 105 degree summer heat.

As we stepped out to the truck when it finally arrived, I realized that at that moment, my family and I were living in an episode of Leave It To Beaver. How nice!! Of all the relics of childhood, some as sacred as the ice cream truck had somehow managed to survive!

At least a few companies had. But all you have to do is Google the childhood staple of innocence to see that they are disappearing as fast as common manners.

They make too much noise. They enable obesity. Kids run into the street. Some of the drivers end up being shady (or worse).

Cities around the nation are going after the ice cream truck. Cities like New York and Boston have gone after the repetitive nature of the tunes that are played. And the companies are being blamed because parents are dumb enough to let their 1-year old run out (apparently not very well supervised) and get killed.

What a shame.

Save the ice cream truck! If I won the lottery, I would buy a truck and inbetween radio shows pack the family into the back and help bring joy to countless thousands.

And I would never get sick of the same song, over and over and over and over again.

Hey, Ice Cream Man! It was nice to know you. Please keep coming back to our neighborhood. We promise you’ll never get a cold shoulder from us.

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