The cry of the call comes back to memory

The strange yet familiar cry in my memory, has since then become a longing and anxious feeling. The children in my neighborhood at that time waited every day for the cry of the ice cream seller passing by. "Who wants ice cream?" - just that voice and the sound of the horn sounded, the children hurriedly left whatever they were doing and rushed out into the street. Plastic sandals, punctured pots and pans, chicken and duck feathers were gathered... everything was as fast as a gust of wind, carried in their hands and ran towards the cry. The ice cream seller was so familiar to the children that he slowed down. He stopped his bike by the base of the casuarina tree in my house, put up the kickstand, and waited for regular customers. My brother and I had two pairs of plastic sandals ready. Huong found a punctured pot for cooking soup, and Huong carried a pile of scrap aluminum from her father. Rest assured that everyone would have cool ice cream to enjoy, soothing the hot day.

Illustration: Internet

The ice cream of the past was not ice cream with lots of milk, chocolate or many flavors, with many choices like today. Ice cream was simply water mixed with sugar, or at the most luxurious, with a little milk. More special were ice creams with flavors of beans such as red beans, green beans, white beans. The ice cream was cool on the tongue, tricking the taste buds. Just like that, it turned into a sparkling paradise that attracted children. The children's eyes sparkled, joyful, radiant. The ice cream was contained in clear plastic bags, tied tightly with elastic bands. They opened the elastic band or bit from the bottom, sucking the sweet, cool taste that melted on the tip of their tongues. Just a simple, plain ice cream filled with youthful joy.

My mother was very close and kind. She often invited street vendors who passed by our house to have a cup of tea and rest in the hot afternoon sun. That was why the ice cream seller, the sandal repairman, the clothes changer… seemed to be familiar with our family. My brothers and I enjoyed our mother’s affection. Sometimes the ice cream seller gave us a green or red ice cream stick. We were both ecstatic.

The cry carries with it the sounds of memories that echo with nostalgia. It wakes me up from the old summers when I was still absent-mindedly swinging on the hammock, startled by a sound. It wakes me up from the sunny afternoons when I played at selling things with my friends, hurriedly running after the cry that just rang out.

The cry carries with it a familiar, intimate, yet distant echo. The river of time rolls on, quietly appearing through a cry. The peaceful, rustic feeling of a bygone childhood awakens. The cry reminds us to cherish each old memory, to preserve cultural values over time. Each cry tells a life story. The father's hard work raising his children to study. The mother's hard work moving around day and night. Behind that cry shines a life of hardship but not insignificant, small but full of value.

The echoing cries of the past have gradually faded away. In the city, I still hear the cries recorded on cassette tape machines, automatically playing over and over again. “ Long An dragon fruit ten thousand per kilo”; “Who sells banh beo, green bean sweet soup... here”… The sellers are less tired when they have industrial machines to record and play.

It’s just that the sound no longer has any trace of the past. Sometimes I still long to see the beads of sweat on the forehead of the ice cream seller from the past, the echo of the familiar cry “Who wants ice cream?” to cool the stream of memories…

Source: https://baodaklak.vn/van-hoa-du-lich-van-hoc-nghe-thuat/van-hoc-nghe-thuat/202510/tieng-rao-ve-ngang-ky-uc-dfd079d/