The Bologna Blog

Mister Softee

There are things that my children will never understand about the life I have lived, but I often attempt to introduce my children to parts of my childhood through story telling. These revelations, at times, don’t always work out well. And such was the case, as I tried to describe the pure momentary joy I experienced as a kid when “Mr. Softee” served up his uncomplicated pleasures to the youth of our neighborhood. It is hard to describe the giddiness I felt when the tinkling notes of “Mr. Softee’s” bewitching truck called to me. The questioning looks, from my offspring, cast in my direction sting. It is obvious they are trying to comprehend our parents letting kids jog blissfully to the painted caravan. Their bewildered stares stem from the guarded era that they have endured. I worry that the memories of a life of simplicity I was allowed to enjoy will be forgotten. It is hard to describe to them the adventurous fun of couch diving for wayward coins to afford the sweet treats offered by “Mr. Softee”. Luxury is a state of mind. Memories of soft served cones dipped in chocolate or sprinkles, served to you by a man in a cardboard hat bending out of two foot window, are priceless.
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