Feuding for 25 years and not ending

25 years of a feud with an arch rival that brings most people here in the Western New York area joy. You hear his music and are filled with delight, not I, I know this monster for whom he is, and his real agenda. He knows this and he to continues his hatred for me, there is no quarter given and none taken in our long battle.

It all began approximately 25 years ago, I was a normal teenage boy, growing up in West Seneca on the great street Carriage Park. A circle street with entrances at the top and bottom and a large park area in the center. An ideal place for a kid to grow up in, with a neighborhood full of kids my age in the wonder of suburbia. Kenny, Bobby, John, Norby and myself were the best of friends constant bike rides, trips Seneca creek, manhunt aka Hide and Go Seek, and normal teenage mischief that children of the 80s got into.

Summer months on carriage park meant swimming, staying outside until the lights came on and ice cream. We had two choices, Frank, a great guy who rode a bike with a cooler attached to the front selling fudgicles, nutty buddies and WWF ice cream bars. Frank was great he always came by early in the afternoon or later in the day, never messing up meal time which would have gotten an instant no from mom when we asked for ice cream.

Then there was the other one, the freak with the ice cream cone for a head and his damn hypnotic carny music, Mister Frostee. He always came at dinner time or just before. He would park right in front if our house, blaring that stupid song, over and over again, you know this song, you hate it as much as I do, imagine over and over again.

Due to his constant torture of music and coming at times that caused nothing but childhood disapointment, my friends and I on several occasions had some fun with the cone head. There was one time when we had placed the bricks that surrounded my mailbox under each of his tires. It was just one brick per tire, but it was enough that when he pulled away it was as if he drove over a curb and made his truck bounce, and a lot of his items inside apparently get, well slightly jumbled. On a different occasion we decided to place a pencil under his tire, not as thick as a brick, but when angled at a good 45 degrees and placed it under the tire, who knew it would actually blow the tire and cause a flat.

There were other occasions of flagging him down only to ask how much stuff was with no intent on buying, or us just telling him Frank was already here and he could leave, I really think this made him turn the music up louder. I also believe that from that point on we became enemies. Somewhere at Mister Frostee headquarters is a photo of me, and a listing of my wearabouts so as to not allow me to ever partake of his ice cream. We hear the truck on our street, we see it drive down the cross street, but it never comes in front of my house.

The war continues today, and the  truth of the matter is, he better not come down my street, I have a whole lot more pencils and the bricks in the front of my house now are much bigger. He can keep his ice cream, and I hope his head melts or he falls and breaks his cone head. I'm not a violent person, but Mr. Frostee is the enemy and there will be no quarter taken and none given.