Verano Vignettes No. 1

This vignette is a memory of summer joy and tradition. Re-capturing a childhood ritual that still echoes in the heart through the sounds of distant bells.

El Paletero

Summer is the front steps of Ama and Apa's house. The multi-level light taupe staircase, brimming with memories, serves as a lookout point. On a hot mid-June evening, the smell of grass and Ama’s aromatic cooking dusts the air. Bright fuschia roses and flavorsome chili peppers Ama planted bask in rays of sunshine. Apa is sitting on a foldout, watching his grandchildren with his espresso-coated chihuahua, who gallops up and down the stairs. The front yard echoes with yelping laughter and flashing Skechers pounding the steps.

We were playing tag. It was a simple game, but it filled our cups. The top of the staircase was our home base, shielding us from the person who was it. As the game progressed, we were panting and turning tomato red, attempting to outrun the tagger. Neighborhood trees directed some slight breeze tickling our foreheads, cooling us off to prevent overheating from the summer sun. But it was not enough.

Off in the distance, a faint ringing noise alerts our ears. It was the universe promising sweet relief. In seconds, the bells got louder. They harmonized with the small squeaky tires rolling over the uneven Chicago concrete. The childish laughter lowered as the all-too-familiar sound became hypnotizing. My cousin darted to the top of the stairs as if it were their sacred duty to confirm their ears were not deceiving them. Their eyes widened, as they shouted, "Apa, El Paletero!” Those three famous words became a call to action. In unison, the choir of children spots him and calls him over. Without a beat, El Paletero glides toward the direction of his fans.

With a swift nod and encouraging smile from Apa, we all flowed out the gate. The man sported worn-out gym shoes, each step represented miles of hard work. His helado cart with an image of Bambi was surrounded. Children, ages three to twelve, waited eagerly for their turn. Kids shouted out flavors - limón, chicle, galleta, mango con chile, chocolate, arroz con leche. One by one, El Paletero fulfilled paleta orders including a Spiderman popsicle with misplaced gumballs as eyes.

Once everyone has a paleta, Apa hands over a wrinkled $20 bill. Elated, we retreat to the yard with our sweet treat, our tongues cooled by the paletas and their bold, tangy, and sweet flavors. We gleefully beam, taking comfort in those wooden taupe steps with Apa. A form of peace arises as we partake in a classic summertime tradition. We watch El Paletero pack up his cart, puff up his chest, and roll away with a sense of pride as though he understood the role he played in the life of summer. With every push, his silhouette disappeared along with the symphony of bells. Not all heroes wear capes, but on those summer evenings when the heat is present, El Paletero comes to save the day.

In adulthood, we long for those moments. Every summer, an old friend returns - chiming bells and pushing a cart, reminding us that those joyful moments can be relived in our hearts. Just remember to sit on the front steps and listen to those familiar bells.