Growing up in Tulsa, Oklahoma, there was very little to be excited about. Except for the Ding-Ding Man. When the Ding-Ding Man came through the neighborhood, every kid dropped whatever disgusting thing they were playing with, ran home, got money from mom, and chased down the Ding-Ding Man.
My favorite were Screwballs with the gum ball in the bottom. Ah, man, those were the best.
For those of you that are following along, in college I lived with five other guys in a house called The Castle. I’ve always been a nickname-guy. I got it from my Grandfather, “Patty Boy.” One of the guys in The Castle, I had nicknamed, “Beav.” The first night we hung out, I looked at him and said, “I’m gonna call you, Beav.” He quickly replied, “No, I can’t be Beav. My brother was called Beav.” And from that day on, he was Beav.
Years later, (the year of The Castle) I went with Beav to his parents house for a week to paint. Free food, free laundry, and free food. I’m in! On the second day, Beav and I were on the roof painting the shutters when we heard the Ding-Ding Man. We yelled like little kids for his mom to come out of the house.
When she came out wondering which one of us was stupid enough to fall off the roof, all we could do was point and yell, “Ding-Ding Man! DING-DING MAN!!!” And like the amazing mom she is, she ran inside, grabbed money and chased down the Ding-Ding Man for the two college-aged idiots doing the Ding-Ding Man Dance on her roof.
That was the best Screwball I have ever had. Thanks, Mama Simmons!