One day in the summer of 1996, my mother was babysitting my niece and nephew. She was five, he was almost three. I was a teenager, and I had a couple of friends over. The ice cream truck came, and we all ran out with our dollars.
The kids had a hard time decided what they wanted, so the driver turned off the engine. When we'd finally gotten our popsicles, the truck wouldn't start. The ice cream man (probably barely older than me) borrowed our cordless phone to call his supervisor.
The kids were so excited that the ice cream man was stuck at Gramma's house. My nephew took it upon himself to climb right onto the truck and started running back and forth inside. The poor ice cream man didn't know what to do, so he just stood there in the street while this crazed little toddler took over his truck.
I've never seen anyone so happy as this little boy who got to peer behind the curtain and actually see how an ice cream truck worked.
We lost him this week. He was 21, but in my memory, I think I'll keep him two and a half, running around in that ice cream truck.