A picture in our family scrapbook showed three-year-old Mimi — beautiful in bangs — perched on her little stool in the open cab of Dad’s milk delivery truck.
When Dad wheeled around a McPherson corner, Mimi rolled off her stool and out the open door.
But not to worry, Mom assured me. Dad stopped, scooped her up, settled her back onto her stool, and delivered milk to the rest of his customers.
I can’t resist:
Mom’s story always reminded me of the funeral home driver who went around the corner so fast the coffin slid out. “Hmm…,” he said. “Guess we’ll have to rehearse this one.”
More about Dad’s dairy…
