I distinctly remember summer nights as a child hearing what my mother called the music truck. Around dinnertime each night the same white truck would drive through the neighborhood playing music loud enough for us to hear inside the house. Something about the melody called to my brother and I, yet Mom would always simply say it was the music truck. Nothing special at all.

One summer night my Grandfather was babysitting us. When the music truck came around, as it did each night, he asked us if we wanted some ice cream. Not surprisingly we both emphatically responded that yes, yes we do want some ice cream. He led us outside toward the music truck and to our amazement it stopped for us. The side was lined with photos of sugary frozen treats. It was a moment of awe as we realized this simple music truck was so much more.

When Mom came home that night we excitedly shared with her the truth of the mysterious music truck. It has ice cream, Mom. ICE CREAM! She was cunning enough to feign surprise at this most shocking revelation. 

The next night while sitting down for dinner the ice cream truck (we obviously renamed it) could be heard entering our neighborhood. Excitement ran through us as we now knew the truth. We begged for money and permission to abandon the dinner table to run outside and purchase ice creams. Our request was denied. It was denied again and again night after night. Mom made it clear dinner wouldn't be interrupted.

Only then did it occur to us. She knew. She knew all along...

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