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The Pink Foot

I could hear the Ice Cream truck right outside our apartment. My mom was always quick to grab her purse and dig out some change for us to get ice cream. She always got a Banana Fudge Bomb Pop and me and my sisters would get either a Pink Foot or a Push-pop.

One day I ran out of the door, money in hand, and chased down the musical notes that rang through the apartment complex. “Where is it?” I thought. I ran as fast as my little 5 year old feet would carry me. Every time I came to an opening I could hear the ice cream truck, but I couldn’t see it. I ran and ran and ran – I never found it.

I finally went back home defeated.

Yesterday I was sitting in my living room and I heard those musical notes from my childhood. I had cash in my pocket and I was half tempted to run outside and get me a sugary sweet confection. The music got louder and louder and I got up and looked out the window. About that time an old white van came by with a myriad of stickers adhered to the sides of the vehicle. The stickers were worn and looked like they had been there since the 80’s. The white van appeared to be oxidized and there was no sheen to the paint. Instead of the fun box-shaped truck of my childhood, this van looked like someting that would be packed full of illegal immigrants instead of tasty treats.

Immediately my temptation fizzled. I probably wouldn’t have eaten an ice cream out of that truck if he had given it to me – unless he gave me a pink foot and it had a blue piece of bubble gum in the big toe – then I probably would have eaten it. Those things are just too irresistable!

By Evan Stark

Eddie Renz is an avid fan of Egyptology, Wilbur Smith and bacon. Not a fan of humility but often finds himself humbled when he is around people who understand numbers like the Fibonacci sequence and Pi.

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