Being a Hero

Some men fight fires, save lives or leap buildings in a single bound to become a hero.

I caught the ice cream man. 

We were hanging out in the yard as a family, mom and me taking turns not paying attention to the kids, and the kids taking turns injuring each other, when that unmistakable old song began to echo off the houses all around us.  Our ears pricked up and the kids and their mom looked at me with begging, hopeful eyes.  I’ve learned to recognize these calls for greatness and I rose to the challenge.  I walked to the front yard in my shirtless state, to pinpoint the music trucks exact location.  It was amazingly impossible, and even worse, the sound was growing fainter.  What a cruel trick for the ice cream man to play… driving by with his music blaring and then speeding away before an appropriately reluctant adult can realistically respond.  I have to admit, I had gotten my hopes for an ice cream glove with a bubble gum ball as well, but it’s just not cool to act all excited.
With his direction unknown and his music fading quickly, I decided to pursue the ice cream man in my truck, and my 3-yr old navigator jumped in the passenger seat beside me.  We peeled out of the garage and embarked on our adventure.  At the first intersection the navigator directs me to turn left.  A street later he gives the same instruction.  As we pull up to the stop sign he asks for another left turn... this would take us back to our house so I hesitate and glance over to see him looking out his window and pointing right.  I explain to him that he is looking right and that my side is left.  “Which way is wrong?” he asks… seriously.  I ignore his stupid question and roll down our windows.  The little punk has cost us precious time and we have got to get back on track soon or there will be no ice cream, or happiness, today. 

I don’t hear a thing.

I close my eyes and try to imagine what I would do if I was an ice cream man.  I conclude that I would drive aimlessly through neighborhoods until a little kid waved me down and then I would park until I had all of their money.  That’s it!  I take off in search of a kid and just a couple of streets over hit paydirt in the form of three, 8 to 12 year old, little girls.  I recklessly speed up to them and roll down my window to ask if they’ve seen the ice cream man.  They look horrified, so I yell louder.  The littlest girl begins to cry, and I’m convinced that they know nothing.  I look over at my dejected 3-yr old and prepare to break his heart.  Then out of the corner of my eye, I spot a white van, with delicious pictures of amazingness all over, speeding down the main drag through our neighborhood.  I tear off after him and catch him at the stop light on the edge of town.  He seems unphased by the fact that a shirtless man just pulled up to him honking and motioning him to roll his window down… all in a day’s work for the ice cream man I suppose.  He makes me follow him 10 to 15 miles, I assume to test if I really want ice cream or not, before he pulls off to the side of the road.  As we pull over behind him and get out of the car I see my son looking at me with the biggest smile he’s ever had.  “You’re my hero daddy,” he says as we walk up to the object of our desire.

 He picks out a rainbow pop and we order another couple sticks of deliciousness for the road when I realize… I forgot my wallet.  The ice cream man doesn’t say a word, he just slides the glass window closed and drives away.  As I look down at my son’s tearful face and empty hands I realize I’ve lost my hero status… The ice cream man giveth, and the ice cream man taketh away.