Daddy Story # 1.
My Dad is shy. Very shy. Mom (and I think my sister and I do it too) over protects Daddy by answering for him and helping him to avoid situations where he might have to speak.
I remember one time we took our silver Monte Carlo through the drive thru at Dairy Queen. It was a faded silver that looked a lot more like primer than silver-with a loud muffler to match. Not cool for me in all my raging adolescence. Daddy was driving. Mom is never allowed to drive if Daddy is in the car. For one, she drives like a bat out of hell. Just kidding. I think it’s because she might actually drive over 35 mph. Daddy rarely drives over 35 mph. Once he got stopped by the police because he was driving so slowly. They said he looked suspicous. He said, "If driving slow is wrong, than I don't wanna be right". Or something like that. You don’t know how many times I’d get my bad self to high school (via bus #39) and somebody cooler than me would say- “man, we got stuck behind your Dad on the way to school today!”
Anyway, since Daddy was driving he had to do the ordering. Daddy, with his thick southern accent said, “We’ll take a Dilley Bar, Dipped Cone, and a Mister Misty”. At that moment he knew he had just put together the strangest set of words known to man. He paused, and then roared with laughter. With this, we knew it was ok, so we laughed too.
Next week: Daddy Story #2- radio preachers, cold water in my face, and twista beads. Don't miss it!