He's here! After years of hiding and running away from him, he's

finally found me! Not only has he found me, but he owns a business in

Peachtree City.

Who? I'm talking about my childhood archenemy, Down the Street

Bully Brad. We became aware of this bone-chilling development purely

explain.

Now I'll admit it. I'm an ice cream purist. Guess I'm

just a boring vanilla kinda guy who doesn't get out much. No surprise

there. The Wife's a chocolate mocha mint chip ice cream person.

She's not boring. No surprise there, either.

Ice cream cools you off during

the summer and makes you happy during the winter so you forget about

the cold outside. Little kids love it,

and teenagers stop arguing while they eat it (even The Boy). Just ask

yourself, have you ever seen anyone unhappy when they were eating a big

bowl of ice cream? It's perfect.

And no matter how old you

get, it's the one thing you can still

eat. So why mess it up by putting all that extra stuff in it or on it?

To me, all that extra stuff just gets in the way of the important stuff.

That would be the ice cream. Extra stuff on ice cream, whether it's

sprinkles, chocolate chips, syrup, walnuts, M&M's, or hot fudge

... no, thank you. Ice cream is perfect all by itself.

Last week we ventured out

to the local Baskin Robbins for a late night cold, creamy treat. Or

so we thought. The Boy had gone almost 12 hours

without arguing with me, a new record for him this month, so he deserved

a reward. The Wife said she deserved a reward just for putting up with

me and The Boy. I couldn't argue with that. (Bet The Boy could.

though.)

We arrived at the store downtown

only to be shocked to read the "out

of business" sign posted on the front door of our beloved ice cream

place. The tables, chairs, and (most importantly) all 31 different flavors

of ice cream were gone! My mind had been wrapped around a double scoop

of creamy vanilla ice cream in a plain waffle cone for the last 15 miles.

What was I going to do?

The Wife saw panic in my eyes.

Life as I knew it was ending, but then she said, "Honey, why don't we just drive to Peachtree City?

There's a Baskin Robbins there."

Aha! All was not lost! Another

short 15-mile trip and we'd be in

ice cream heaven once again. We piled back into the truck and headed

off to golf cart land. Little did I know we were also about 14 miles

away from running into Bully Brad.

Around our neighborhood on

Flamingo Street, Brad was an equal opportunity bully. Though he bullied

me most of the time, he always seemed to have

time left over to bully others, and Goofy Steve was one of his favorite

targets, when he could catch him. Goof was the best dodge ball player

in the world, and the way he dodged, bobbed and weaved, Brad had a hard

time catching him, but when he did, it didn't fare too well for

poor Goof.

When Bully Brad finally got

his hands on Goofy Steve, he'd be so

tired he'd just throw him down, sit on him and make poor Goof eat

dirt. I remember the last summer we lived on Flamingo Street: Bully Brad

chased Goof for over an hour before he caught him, threw him down, and

sat on him. When he finally let Goof up, he said with a sneer, "Yeah,

next time I'm gonna make you eat worms too!" What does all

this have to do with going to get ice cream some 30 years later? Read

on, dear reader. The chilling answer will soon be clear.

We reached the land of 10,000

golf carts and parked in front of the store. Getting out of the truck,

I noticed that the large neon Baskin

Robbins sign was not lit. Must have a power outage, I thought. Hope the

ice cream hasn't thawed. I hate thawed ice cream. Growing up, Twin

Brother Mark always mashed his bowl of ice cream till it was all smooth,

more ice cream mush than ice cream. Maybe that's where the people

from DQ got their idea for their lemon lime Mister Misty brain freeze

float.

We reached the door only to

find another sign posted showing that this location was also out of

business. We asked a passerby how long it had

been closed, and he replied, "About two months." Told you I

don't get out much.

My stomach growled an angry response.

"But there's a new Bruster's at the top of the hill.

They have great ice cream." All was not lost. I thanked the man,

and we piled back into the truck, once again headed toward ice cream

and, unbeknownst to me, an encounter with none other than my childhood

nemesis Bully Brad.

Right up the street on top

of the hill was the brightly lit, red sign of Bruster's. We happily stood in line, and even though they didn't

have 31 flavors, they did have three menus full of delectable melting

down the hands lickable ice cream, some of which I'd never heard

of. Blue Pop, Fudgie Cheese Cake, Burstin Bubbles, and Caramel Swirl,

just to name a few. But at the bottom of the last menu, in bold black

letters, was one flavor that caught my eye: Dirt and Worms. A cold shiver

ran down my back.

I asked the nice lady behind

the counter if she worked for Bully Brad. She said, "No, I work for Bruster's." Then she tried to

convince me that Dirt and Worms was simply Oreo cookies in vanilla ice

cream with gummy worms on top, but I knew better. Bully Brad had found

me, and he owns the best ice cream place in Peachtree City, one I highly

recommend to satisfy all your ice creamery needs, even if it's just

mashed up vanilla ice cream in a bowl. Just be careful, though. If you

see a large fellow lurking around, watch out! He could try to make your

kids eat dirt and worms. Trust me; he's had lots of practice.

[Rick Ryckeley is employed by the Fayette County Department of Fire

and Emergency Services. He can be reached at [email protected].]