My Childhood

I scream, you scream…

“Run, run, run as fast as you can

Here comes the music of the Ice Cream Man.

Hurry, hurry, hurry he’s coming down the street

I have some money for an ice cream treat!”

Brinley came home from school one day a few weeks ago singing this little tune over and over and over again.  At first I thought maybe she had made it up but it turns out that she learned it at school.  Very fitting since it happened to be about a bazillion degrees that day.

I have some really fond childhood memories involving the ice cream truck.  We had one in our neighborhood that stopped on the corner every single day when the weather was above 70-ish degrees.  I remember hearing the tinkly music and running inside with my brother and neighborhood kids to beg my mom, or any other grown up, for some money for the ice cream truck.  I consider myself very lucky because more often than not my parents happily handed over their pocket change so that we could get a treat.

There is an ice cream truck in our new neighborhood.  We heard that unmistakable music ringing in the air the first week we moved in.  I wasn’t sure Brinley would know what the music was or what it was coming from because we’d only experienced the ice cream truck a few times and it had been over a year since she last saw one.  Well, to my surprise she knew exactly what it was and started jumping up and down yelling, “ice cream man, ice cream man!”  All of my childhood memories came back to me and Scott ran inside to get some money.  What was shocking was that those screwballs that used to cost us 50 cents were now two dollars!!  A simple popsicle is $1.50 and an ice cream sandwich is $2.00.  Yikes!  Of course we got her an ice cream, a Dora face with gumball eyes.

The bad part – the ice cream truck strolls through the neighborhood around 4:30pm.  About an hour or so before dinner time.  Oh and the fact that if we let her get ice cream even a few times a week Scott is going to have to get another job so that we can afford it!  We definitely don’t indulge her daily even though she asks.  She understands that it’s a special treat which is good.  But the smile on her face when she hears that tinkly music coming through the neighborhood really brings me back.

Sibling rivalry

For eight years of my life, I was the baby.  The second born.  The first girl.  I have an older brother.  He’s two and a half years older than me.  I’m sure he was not thrilled when I came along, and I can’t blame him.  We didn’t really get along well as kids, but what brother/sister siblings do?  I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if we were responsible for the term “sibling rivalry”.  I don’t think I would have had a problem getting along with him if he had been a little bit nicer to me.  But to say that he was mean to me, is an understatement.  He was downright cruel.  He gave me rides down flights of stairs in cardboard boxes, cut the hair off of all my Barbies, ripped the heads off of my Cabbage Patch Kids and threw them up into trees, left me swinging in a tire swing that he knew I couldn’t get out of alone, and called me every mean and nasty name he could think of.  I was his scapegoat for everything, or at least he tried to make it that way.  My parents and grandparents never believed him when he tried to blame me for things, and why would they? He was always causing trouble.

I never understood why my brother hated me so much until my sister was born.  Like I said, I was the baby for eight years.  The spoiled little princess.  In comparison to my brother, I could do no wrong.  But the she came along and my life was forever changed.  At first I was thrilled to have a baby in the house.  It was like having a real live doll around.  But then she started to invade.  We had to share a room which meant she was always getting into my things.  I tried to keep her out and she would cry and then my mom would get mad at me, me the one who never got in trouble.  She tried to play with my dolls and “help” with my artwork.  When I had friends over to play she wanted to play with us.  I remember yelling, “Get her out of here!” and slamming the door.  I began to realize why my brother had been plotting to kill me (not really, I don’t think) all of these years.

I have some great stories about my childhood that will pop up here and there on this blog.  Be sure to check back often for them.  Oh, and you’ll be happy to know that, as adults, I get along amazingly well with both my brother and my sister.  I found it in my heart, somehow, to forgive my brother for all of the evil things he did to me as a child.  And luckily, my sister was able to forgive me as well.

Where did you fall in the birth order?  How did it affect your life?

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