My Bicycle, an Ice Cream Truck, and a Nickel

 
 
 
 

My Bicycle, an Ice Cream Truck, and a Nickel

Hello, I’m a military brat.
 
Growing up, I never knew what my father’s next assignment would bring. One morning he’d be gone and a few months later we’d be in a new home across the country, or overseas. Uniforms hung in the closet like artwork in a gallery, from camouflage fatigues to flight suits to full-dress blues. His military career was a part of my upbringing, defining who we were as family.
 
One of the most terrifying experiences I had as a military brat involved my bicycle, an ice cream truck, and a nickel.
 
My story would make a wonderful object lesson for your children or grandchildren. I guarantee if you hold up a nickel between your thumb and pointer finger, make sure the children can see it, and look at it from time to time while reading my below story, you’ll have them washing their hands and not putting coins in their mouth. You’ll even wash your hands more often after handling change.
 
Go ahead, have your children and grandchildren gather around and tell them my story —
 
The seductive serenade of the ice cream man’s music blasted over a public address system mounted on his truck’s roof. One large speaker pointed forward with the music temptingly calling, “Here I come. Get your parents to give you some money.” The second positioned to trumpet to the homes and people he had just driven past letting them know, “Hurry, it’s not too late. You know you want it!”
 
 
Like the moth drawn to the flame, I started dancing and crying out, “Oh please, mother. It’s the ice cream man. Can I have a nickel? Please, please, pretty please?”
 
Ice cream bars on a stick cost only five cents back in 1960.
 
“Jim, a nickel’s a lot of money,” mother said.
 
“He’s passing our house! I’ll take out the trash,” I pleaded, and bargained at the same time. “Can I? Please?”
 
She pulled a quarter from her purse. “Get four of the fudge ones,” mom said as she tossed me a quarter. “Bring me back the nickel he will give you as change for giving him the quarter.”
 
I raced out the front door, jumped on my bicycle and pedaled fast to catch up with the pink truck carrying the sweet treats.
 
 
I made the purchase.
 
Grasping four ice cream bars in one hand and my nickel change in the other, I knew I had a problem.
 
I was two blocks from home with my ice cream in one hand, a coin in the other and a bicycle to ride back home.
 
I had to get back fast as the temperature was 115 degrees at Luke Air Force Base, Arizona, where I lived.  It was over 120 degrees when on the concrete or asphalt. My seven years old mind churned out what I believed was a solution.
 
 
Putting the nickel in my mouth, I climbed on the bicycle, and clutched two ice creams in each hand, gripping their wooden stick and the handle bar. Somehow, I made it home okay.
 
I tossed down the bike, ran into the house carrying my four prizes.
 
Then it happened. As I spoke, I gagged on the nickel. Well, I started choking on it before I swallowed it.
 
Mother yelled for dad and my little brother.
 
She grabbed me and next thing I knew, I was in the emergency room at the Luke Air Force Base Dispensary. As we entered the building, she begins explaining what happened.
 
 
They took me for x-rays. I still vividly remember the picture where it looked like the nickel was sitting on my rib.
 
The doctor explained the nickel may pass through my digestive system during routine bowel movements in the next one to three days. He told how I would need to squat over a newspaper when I had a bowel movement. That way I could use a stick (he handed me a handful of tongue depressors) to check the feces for the nickel.
 
 
If I didn’t pass the nickel in four days, they would do surgery! Yikes. They would cut me open to remove the nickel.
 
For the next three days, every time I went to the bathroom, my then five-year-old little brother would come with me, looking at my bottom as I did my deed. On the third day, he started screaming, “There it is, there it is!” as he could see the nickel.
 
I was relieved, as were my parents, that I wouldn’t face surgery.
 
What about the ice cream bars?
 
They melted on the kitchen counter. In my parents’ haste to get me to the emergency room, no one thought of putting them in the freezer.
 
Whenever I see an ice cream bar, I often remember the ice cream man, my bicycle, and a nickel.
 
Since then, I never put coins in my mouth, and I always wash my hands after touching coins. I know where the coins have been!
 
And what happened to the nickel?
 
I washed it soapy hot water. Mother made me scrub it.
 
 
The next Sunday I placed it in the offering plate at Sunday school.
 
 
All the children knew about that nickel’s traveling adventure.
 
One girl said that the soapy hot water only was the first washing of the nickel. Giving it to Jesus it now would be super clean.
 
“Why?” asked my friend Doug.
 
“It’s going to Jesus for the cleansing power. It’ll be washed in the blood of the Lamb,” she beamed.
 
“What?” ask Doug.
 
“Oh, silly,” she said, “Don’t you remember the song we sing in big-church? ‘Are you washed in the blood of the Lamb?’ That nickel’s going to be spotless, as clean and shiny white as snow.”
 
“Come now, let us reason together, says the Lord: though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they are red like crimson, they shall become like wool.”
Isaiah 1:18 ESV
 

Note: For several years I’ve been writing short vignettes about growing up as a military brat. I plan a memoir about growing up as a military brat during the cold war threat of the 1950s and 1960s. 

Fourth Grade New Year’s Day Memories from January 1, 1963

USC Mascot Traveler with a Trojan Warrior rider.

The first New Year’s Day that I clearly remember was New Year’s 1963. I was nine years old and a fourth grade at Luke Air Force Base Elementary School on Luke Air Force Base, Glendale, Arizona. I remember the big deal that year about the Rose Bowl Football game. The University of Wisconsin was the Big 10 Conference Champion and ranked #2 in the country. The University of Southern California (USC) was the Athletic Association of Western Universities champion (see note) and ranked #1. This was the first time that the number one and number two teams had ever played each other in a bowl game.

My fourth grade teacher was Mrs. Jensen. I had also had her in the third grade which seemed weird at the time to have her get promoted to the next grade along with me. Mrs. Jensen was a USC graduate. She had been a cheerleader way back in the 1930’s. She showed us pictures of her as a cheerleader, but we all thought that had to be her daughter as she could have never been that young. She had been born the same year as President Kennedy. That was 1917.

She asked how many of us had watched the Rose Bowl game. Almost every hand in the classroom was raised. She asked questions about the game. Who won? USC. What was the score? 42-37.

In spite of the score, in the fourth quarter, USC leading, 42-14. That is when many who had started with the game on the telecast turned off their television or changed channels. Even at the Rose Bowl some began filing out.

Then the comeback began. It is what some have called the greatest Rose Bowl in history. USC desperately fought to hang on for a 42-37 victory.

I like what LA Time sports writer Earl Gustkey wrote. He said, “The (Wisconsin) Badgers simply ran out of time against the Trojans, who had run out of gas. They scored 23 unanswered fourth quarter points, but still lost.”

Mrs. Jensen had been at the game that Tuesday. She hurried back the 375 miles to Glendale, Arizona for school on Wednesday. She asked if we knew what Wisconsin’s mascot was. We all yelled Badger. She asked if we knew USC’s mascot. We all said in unison, Trojans. She asked if we knew what the name of the white horse was that carried the Trojan warrior on its back.

There was silence.

We then learned that The horse’s name is Traveler. We found out that when USC scores a touchdown, Traveler gallops around the field as the USC band plays “Conquest.”

I learned many trivial things as a military brat. The story of Traveler has stayed with me. I was the first person Mrs. Jensen asked when she wanted the name of the horse. I didn’t know and the class laughed at me. The stopped laughing after she asked each boy and girl and no one knew the answer.

Note: What is now the Pacific-12 Conference or Pac-12 has had several names in its history – Pacific Coast Conference or PCC, 1915–1959, Athletic Association of Western Universities or AAWU, 1959–68, Pacific-8 or Pac-8 1968–78, Pacific-10 or Pac-10, 1978–2011.

Photo Credit: This file is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 Unported license. Attribution: Bestweekevr at en.wikipedia

Christmas – Military Brat Style

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Lionel “Southern Express” Electric Train

The first Christmas I can clearly remember was 1959. I was six years old. My family lived in Glendale, Arizona.

Did I ever go to my paternal grandmother’s for Christmas? No. I never did that I can remember.

Did I ever go to my maternal grandparent’s for Christmas? No. I did not that I can recall. We never exchanged gifts or had Christmas dinner with extended family.

The closest thing I can remember about a visit to relatives was in December 1963. My father was in Vietnam on a one-year tour of duty. Mother, brother, and I went to my mother’s between Christmas and New Years, but not for Christmas.

The first experience I had with an extended family Christmas celebration was when I was dating my wife. In 1972, I went to her parents on Christmas Eve. We had a feast like I had never seen before. Aunts, Uncles, cousins, brothers, sisters, and nieces were there. There weren’t any nephews yet. It was the most wonderful Norman Rockwell type of setting I had ever seen or could ever imagine. I fell in love with her family’s tradition. That’s another story for another time.

Ten years early, this time living on Luke Air Force Base in Arizona, I had a wonderful Christmas memory. My family always took a walk through the neighborhood on Christmas Eve. When living on military bases we would knock on neighbor’s doors and sing Jingle Bells, The First Noël, and Silent Night. Magically when we returned home, Santa had always visited.

This year he brought my brother and me an electric train set. Somehow between the time we left and returned the train set was delivered to a table, set up with landscaping, and ready to run. You could turn off the room’s light and see the light from the Lionel Electric Train. The train even had steam come out the smoke stack. It was the best present ever!

I played with that train until I married. The last time I saw it I helped store it in my dad’s attic just before I married. The train traveled many a mile with me to three more duty stations and then to the retirement destination. On my father’s meager pay as a Technical Sergeant of $325 a month plus another $105 a month hazardous duty pay somehow we lived well.

Hello, I’m a Military Brat

Pease Air Force Base at Portsmouth, New Hampshire. The picture was taken in the May 1966 from the balcony of the operations building. I was in the 7th grade. There is one KC-135 and six B-52s on the runway.
Pease Air Force Base, Portsmouth, New Hampshire. There are one KC-135 and six B-52s on the runway. The picture dates from May 1966. I was in the 7th grade. I lived on Pease AFB from February 1966 to May 1967 and was in the 7th and 8th grades while we lived there.

What is a military brat? A military brat is the son or daughter of an airman, marine, sailor, or soldier. These children of career military have shared characteristics. They grew up in a community of service. Sacrificing for the greater good is part of their character. They moved on average once every three years to a new state, region, or country.

Academic studies show military brats lack racism.1 They are the only color blind group in the USA. They are the most open-minded of any subgroup in the world. They are more tolerant and embrace diversity with respect for others better than their civilian counterparts to include those raised in liberal homes. They are equally respectful and tolerant of conservative, moderate and liberal points of view.2

They adapt to change and new situations better than any group in the United States. 2

They are socially independent. They do well in personal relationships. They put the needs of the other people ahead of their needs.

Military brats who grew up as military dependents particularly in the late 1940s to early 1970s are kinder, caring, and more loyal than their raised as civilian children counterparts. They were higher achievers academically and professionally make the best employees due to characteristics like self-discipline, self-starter, flexibility, and their personal fiscal responsibility. 2

Most military brats do not have a real hometown.2 Most do not know their cousins, aunts, and uncles or grandparents very well. Many do not trust the governments of North Korea, Russia, and China.

The word brat is not derogatory. It stands for:

B – Born

R – Raised

A – And

T – Trained1

I’m a military brat. My father served in the United States Army, United States Army Air Force and the United States Air Force (USAF). He retired from the USAF.

I am also a former United States Army officer. Growing up as a military brat helped prepare me for my service. It was all natural and comfortable to me. I felt it was where I belonged more than anyplace else in my life.

1 http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=military%20brat

2 http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Military_brat_(U.S._subculture)


Jimmie Aaron Kepler is a novelist, poet, book reviewer, and award-winning short story writer. His work has appeared in over twenty venues, including Bewildering Stories and Beyond Imagination. When not writing each morning at his favorite coffeehouse, he supports his writing, reading, and book reviewing habit working as an IT application support analyst. He is a former Captain in the US Army. His blog Kepler’s Book Reviews was named a 100 best blogs for history buffs. You can visit him at http://www.jimmiekepler.com.

Turtleneck and The Dickies

When this military brat moved to Portsmouth, New Hampshire in January 1966, my wardrobe took a significant change. The t-shirts, blue jeans, and sneakers or cowboy boots I wore to school in Texas we not allowed at Portsmouth Junior High School.

Button-down shirts with collars replaced t-shirts. I switched from jeans to men’s dress slack pants. Wingtips exiled my sneakers to gym class only footwear. My cowboy boots were forbidden by dress code.

I found myself cold in the snowy New England weather. I quickly noticed the cool kids dressed like beatniks (this was before the hippies) with a school mandated exception. The dress code did not allow you to wear turtlenecks as your shirt. A turtle neck required a shirt worn over it.

The character “Illya Kuryakin,” played by David McCallum on The Man From U.N.C.L.E. looked cool wearing turtlenecks. He is who all the guys wanted to be. Later that year Michael Nesmith of The Monkees work a turtleneck in the TV show “The Monkees.” Again, the turtleneck added to the cool factor.

The first month I lived in New Hampshire I started wearing turtleneck dickies and turtlenecks. I wore them everyday to school. I wanted to look cool. I wore them as part of my uniform as a member of the folk rock band “The Younger Generation” where I was a rhythm guitarist. We were cool. We didn’t wear a shirt over our turtleneck shirts. We were rebels.

Did wearing turtlenecks make me a cool kid? No. Did it help me to fit in? Maybe. I think the value was it helped my self-esteem. Plus, my mom liked them and my dad didn’t. I still like to wear a black turtleneck. It still makes me feel cool.

Did you have a favorite dress, jacket or outfit you wore in middle school, junior high or high school that made you feel cool or accepted? Maybe it was a hair style that  helped you fit in or belong. I’d love to hear about it.

Maybe like me you had television shows that influenced you. Shows like The Man From U.N.C.L.E., Laugh-In, The Monkees, and The Johnny Cash Show and  Glen Campbell Good Time Hour were shows that helped me have a fashion sense in the late 1960’s.  What were your programs?

Photo source: NBC Television. The photo was also used to answer fan mail during the height of their popularity. The card had no copyright marks either., Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons


Jimmie Aaron Kepler is a novelist, poet, book reviewer, and award-winning short story writer. His work has appeared in over twenty venues, including Bewildering Stories and Beyond Imagination. When not writing each morning at his favorite coffee house, he supports his writing, reading, and book reviewing habit working as an IT application support analyst. He is a former Captain in the US Army. His blog Kepler’s Book Reviews was named a 100 best blogs for history buffs. You can visit him at http://www.jimmiekepler.com.

Hello, I’m a Military Brat

Pease Air Force Base at Portsmouth, New Hampshire. The picture was taken in the May 1966 from the balcony of the operations building. I was in the 7th grade. There is one KC-135 and six B-52s on the runway.
Pease Air Force Base, Portsmouth, New Hampshire. There are one KC-135 and six B-52s on the runway. The picture dates from May 1966. I was in the 7th grade. I lived on Pease AFB from February 1966 to May 1967 and was in the 7th and 8th grades while we lived there.

What is a military brat? A military brat is the son or daughter of an airman, marine, sailor, or soldier. These children of career military have shared characteristics. They grew up in a community of service. Sacrificing for the greater good is part of their character. They moved on average once every three years to a new state, region, or country.

Academic studies show military brats lack racism.1 They are the only color blind group in the USA. They are the most open-minded of any subgroup in the world. They are more tolerant and embrace diversity with respect for others better than their civilian counterparts to include those raised in liberal homes. They are equally respectful and tolerant of conservative, moderate and liberal points of view.2

They adapt to change and new situations better than any group in the United States. 2

They are socially independent. They do well in personal relationships. They put the needs of the other people ahead of their needs.

Military brats who grew up as military dependents particularly in the late 1940s to early 1970s are kinder, caring, and more loyal than their raised as civilian children counterparts. They were higher achievers academically and professionally make the best employees due to characteristics like self-discipline, self-starter, flexibility, and their personal fiscal responsibility. 2

Most military brats do not have a real hometown.2 Most do not know their cousins, aunts, and uncles or grandparents very well. Many do not trust the governments of North Korea, Russia, and China.

The word brat is not derogatory. It stands for:

B – Born

R – Raised

A – And

T – Trained1

I’m a military brat. My father served in the United States Army, United States Army Air Force and the United States Air Force (USAF). He retired from the USAF.

I am also a former United States Army officer. Growing up as a military brat helped prepare me for my service. It was all natural and comfortable to me. I felt it was where I belonged more than anyplace else in my life.

1 http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=military%20brat

2 http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Military_brat_(U.S._subculture)


Jimmie Aaron Kepler

Jimmie Aaron Kepler’s work has appeared in six different Lifeway Christian publications as well as The Baptist Program, Thinking About Suicide.com, Poetry & Prose Magazine, vox poetica, The Dead Mule School of Southern Literature, Bewildering Stories, Beyond Imagination Literary Magazine and more. His short stories The Cup, Invasion of the Prairie Dogs, Miracle at the Gibson Farm: A Christmas Story, and The Paintings as well as Gone Electric: A Poetry Collection are available on Amazon.com. He is also the author of The Liberator Series. The Rebuilder – Book 1 is available for pre-order on Amazon. It will be released October 1, 2015. The Mission – Book Two will be available Spring 2016, The Traveller – Book 3 will be available Summer 2016, and The Seer – Book 4 will be available Fall 2016.

Fourth Grade New Year’s Day Memories from January 1, 1963

USC Mascot Traveler with a Trojan Warrior rider.

The first New Year’s Day that I clearly remember was New Year’s 1963. I was nine years old and a fourth grade at Luke Air Force Base Elementary School on Luke Air Force Base, Glendale, Arizona. I remember the big deal that year about the Rose Bowl Football game. The University of Wisconsin was the Big 10 Conference Champion and ranked #2 in the country. The University of Southern California (USC) was the Athletic Association of Western Universities champion (see note) and ranked #1. This was the first time that the number one and number two teams had ever played each other in a bowl game.

My fourth grade teacher was Mrs. Jensen. I had also had her in the third grade which seemed weird at the time to have her get promoted to the next grade along with me. Mrs. Jensen was a USC graduate. She had been a cheerleader way back in the 1930’s. She showed us pictures of her as a cheerleader, but we all thought that had to be her daughter as she could have never been that young. She had been born the same year as President Kennedy. That was 1917.

She asked how many of us had watched the Rose Bowl game. Almost every hand in the classroom was raised. She asked questions about the game. Who won? USC. What was the score? 42-37.

In spite of the score, in the fourth quarter, USC leading, 42-14. That is when many who had started with the game on the telecast turned off their television or changed channels. Even at the Rose Bowl some began filing out.

Then the comeback began. It is what some have called the greatest Rose Bowl in history. USC desperately fought to hang on for a 42-37 victory.

I like what LA Time sports writer Earl Gustkey wrote. He said, “The (Wisconsin) Badgers simply ran out of time against the Trojans, who had run out of gas. They scored 23 unanswered fourth quarter points, but still lost.”

Mrs. Jensen had been at the game that Tuesday. She hurried back the 375 miles to Glendale, Arizona for school on Wednesday. She asked if we knew what Wisconsin’s mascot was. We all yelled Badger. She asked if we knew USC’s mascot. We all said in unison, Trojans. She asked if we knew what the name of the white horse was that carried the Trojan warrior on its back.

There was silence.

We then learned that The horse’s name is Traveler. We found out that when USC scores a touchdown, Traveler gallops around the field as the USC band plays “Conquest.”

I learned many trivial things as a military brat. The story of Traveler has stayed with me. I was the first person Mrs. Jensen asked when she wanted the name of the horse. I didn’t know and the class laughed at me. The stopped laughing after she asked each boy and girl and no one knew the answer.

Note: What is now the Pacific-12 Conference or Pac-12 has had several names in its history – Pacific Coast Conference or PCC, 1915–1959, Athletic Association of Western Universities or AAWU, 1959–68, Pacific-8 or Pac-8 1968–78, Pacific-10 or Pac-10, 1978–2011.

Photo Credit: This file is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 Unported license. Attribution: Bestweekevr at en.wikipedia

Christmas – Military Brat Style

Lionel "Southern Express" Electric Train
Lionel “Southern Express” Electric Train

1959 is the first Christmas I can remember. Just six years old my family lived in Glendale, Arizona.

Did I ever go to my paternal grandmother’s house for Christmas? No. I never did that, I can remember.

Did I ever go to my maternal grandparents’ home for Christmas? No. I did not that I can recall. We never exchanged gifts or ate Christmas dinner with extended family.

The closest thing I can remember about a visit to relatives was in December 1963. My father was in Vietnam on a one-year tour of duty. Mother, brother, and I visited my mother’s parents between Christmas and New Year, but not for the holiday.

My first experience with an extended family Christmas celebration was when I was dating my wife. In 1972, I celebrated with her and her parents on Christmas Eve. A feast covered the tables and aunts, uncles, cousins, brothers, sisters, and nieces were there. There weren’t any nephews yet. It was the most wonderful Norman Rockwell type of setting I had ever seen or could ever imagine. I fell in love with her family’s tradition. That’s another story for another time.

Ten years early, this time living on Luke Air Force Base in Arizona, I had a wonderful Christmas memory. My family always took a walk through the neighborhood on Christmas Eve. Living on military bases allowed us to knock on neighbor’s doors and sing Jingle Bells, The First Noël, and Silent Night. When we returned home, Santa had always visited.

This year he brought my brother and me an electric train set. Delivery of the train occurred somehow between the time we left the house and returned with set up on a table with landscaping, and ready to run. You could turn off the room’s light and see the light from the Lionel Electric Train. The train even had steam come out the smoke stack. It was the best present ever!

I played with that train until I married. The last time I saw it, I helped store it in my dad’s attic just before I married. The train traveled many a mile with me to three more duty stations and then to the retirement destination. On my father’s meager pay as a Technical Sergeant of $325 a month plus another $105 a month hazardous duty pay, we lived well.