…because, you know, what kid didn’t?
Beth and I would throw them out the windows of our dad’s red Ford Escort—on the sly, of course (or so we thought)—whenever he’d pass by someone walking down the street.
At first, it made him nuts. He’d yell, “Don’t do that! You’re gonna get in trouble!” But one day, for some unknown reason, his opinion of our admittedly childish antics made an abrupt and unexpected 180-degree turn.
We were driving east on Morgan Avenue in Milwaukee and, as we approached the top of a small hill, he turned to Beth and I in the backseat and said, “There are two kids riding bikes coming up. Get ’em.”
Beth and I looked at each other and smiled. He didn’t have to tell us twice. We each chucked a bang snap out the window as we passed. As we drove on we heard one of the kids yell to the other kid, “Hold up! I think I just popped a tire!”
A couple weeks ago, Beth and my dad spent a night at our place. They were headed to London together the next day, and before their trip they decided to stop at a CVS and stock up on snacks for their long flight.
When my dad walked out of the store he handed me this:
I’ll be driving with my windows down this summer, that’s for sure.
39 going on 9,