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My first blog post

It was an ordinary sign of summer. Good Humor ice-cream truck that barely rang a bell and parked itself outside an apartment building. But brought back incredible memories that weren't so ordinary. At least not, I don't think so ... My brother and i as children lived in an apartment house in Brooklyn. It was an idyllic existence. We had friendly neighbors (mostly), a large playground in the back. We had swings an seesaws, benches, and lots of room for playing ball, skating, all the things that amuse kids, especially in the summer. Later on, in a new obsession for safety, the swings were taken away, but the seesaws were left. We lived on a huge boulevard, which had benches and a bike path and was generous with trees. For a while we have a bridle path right across the street, and we would watch the lightning-fast horses and excited riders dashing by. That too was deemed unsafe after a while, but I still have those memories. I had two "beefs" -- once that my mother didn't relish my tendency to bring home live things, such as ants and salamanders. The other was that when the Good Humor truck came by on Saturdays - which it often did -- we couldn't buy any. Like observant Jews, we didn't use money on the Sabbath. And boy, did I love ice cream, especially chocolate or fudgicles. After we had groaned for a while, my father, who was anything if not resourceful and daring, made a deal with the ice-cream driver -- it was pretty much always the same guy. The deal was that the driver would give me and my brother whatever we wanted, and then come back after dark to collect his money. Somehow he trusted my father, who never failed to be there with the money. Of course, the problem came in when other kids got wind of the deal and wanted to be included. I can't remember how many kids it ended up including, but it was a few -- and my father paid for everyone. It was one of those simple but sweet memories of my childhood. Today, in my car, when the ice-cream truck drove by and parked, my 10-month-old grandson was with me, and I wish I could have told him what his great-grandfather used to do. But he's a little young ...