The Ice Cream Man

Last night Ben and I were out in the yard about 6 p.m. and I heard the familiar jangle of the ice cream truck coming around the corner. I said, “Look, Ben it’s the ice cream man!” and proceeded to ask the dumbest question known to mankind: “Want to get an ice cream?” I paid the $2 for the SpongeBob ice cream bar (which we shared), and which actually tasted pretty good. Not $2 good, but pretty good nonetheless.

Some days I would love to be the ice cream man.

Imagine how great it would be. You do nothing all day except drive around in a neat little truck bringing fun and happiness to people everywhere. They hear you coming and they run into the house for loose change because they don’t want to miss what you have to offer. They flag you down to get your attention. You make the sale, and everyone’s happy. No complaints, no hard work, no criticism, no questioning, no difficulties – just hours and hours of bringing smiles and sweet sugary treats to people everywhere.

It sounds good on paper, but my guess is the ice cream man is bored out of his gourd. Surely the smiles and the excitement of kids bring him joy, but those moments are fleeting. Another neighborhood, another kid, another parent digging coins from her purse, another transaction, another plunge of the hand into the freezer, another case of someone getting what they want but don’t really need. It’s the same routine, over and over and over again. As I recall, when we paid for our treat, the ice cream man didn’t seem all that happy – just kind of zoned out.

Some days I’d love a job like that – where everyone’s happy just because you showed up. But in the end, there’s no challenge. No growth. No learning. No teaching. No life change. No joy of discovery. No stretching. No calling. No sacrifice. No blessing.

Being the ice cream man sounds great at first, but in the ends it’s all empty calories.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go take another bite out of SpongeBob’s head.