Ice Creamy Doom!

When I was about eight years old, and still a bit shaky on the old bicycle, I managed to ride into the back of a parked utility truck. Not in the clever movie-style way, where I might have sped up a ramp, flown over the cab, and landed unharmed on a pile of grass clippings. Oh no, I managed a quite ungraceful slam into the back bumper, smacking my oversized helmet on the tailgate, and wedging my fender under the truck's wheelwell. The cause of my uncomfortable situation? The ice cream man. I had been terribly distracted by the clinking music and the tasty treats plastered all over the outside of his van, and couldn't tear my eyes away to watch where I was going.

It didn't take me long to let go of my grudge against the ice cream man. I learned to be more cautious when he was around and I was tearing up and down the street on my streamer-handled cruiser. My parents gave me money for ice cream exactly two times, but he still drove by daily, due to the hordes of neighborhood children who did more than drool longingly as he passed. Occasionally, when I was at a neighbor's house, their parents would dole out a few dollars for my friend and I to share. It gets ridiculously hot in Davis, and we played outdoors a lot, so those popsicles and ice creams were like Christmas presents every time.

UK health officials want to ban ice cream vendors from certain areas not because of the obvious danger to new cyclists, but because, of course, children don't know any better than to stuff themselves into morbid obesity when tasty capitalism is allowed to run unchecked through their neighorhoods. I'm curious whether this trend towards eliminating parental accountability is going to continue. If parents are willing to hand over enough pocket money to their offspring and neglect to impart any knowledge of nutrition, what makes the government think it is their duty to eliminate everyone's choice in the matter? I say, fill the streets with the tinkling sounds of rickety old vans and their garish posters. Those of us who would never even buy an Its-it or a Rocketpop will still get a kick out of the nostalgia.

Curse you, UK! Try to save some fun for when I get there!

In other news, look what a search for rocketpop popsicles turns up!