I hear him but don’t see him.

Good Humor?
You could hear him coming from afar. His repetitious jingle played over and over. He slowly made his way down our street on Simmons Avenue in East L A. It seemed forever before he made his way near our house. Once in sight I would run and wave him down. And I mean He. In all my early childhood did I ever see a woman Good Humor Man.
Once stopped I would excitedly ask him for a ‘Drumstick.’ And to explain, a drumstick was a scoop of vanilla ice cream dipped in chocolate with crushed peanuts in the mix. Looking something like a chicken drumstick. All frozen in a cone package and ready for a ten-year-old Okie boy to quickly devoured. All for just 15-cents. Just a dime and a nickel.
Anyway, he would stop his blue and white Good Humor truck with a multi-doored cooler box filled with crushed ice and with boxes and boxes of fudgsicles , popsicles , push up pops, chocolate and peanut eskimo bars, and more.
If neighbor parents wondered where their children were, the Good Humor man would flush them out. Here they would come running with nickel, dimes and quarters in hand. Ready to forfeit their hard-earned cash for some creamy chocolatey goodness.
The only thing through all the years chasing the Good Humor man, the Good Humor man never told me a joke. So, where’s the humor in that?
Why did the Good Humor man cross the road? To accommodate smaller children who were not allowed to cross the road without a mom. Get it?
I know for certain there is a special place in heaven for the Good Humor man. Amen.