A little bit is good, but more is better………Right? Especially when it comes to fire…………..or was that ice cream?
Jumping from the parsonage roof with a homemade parachute couldn’t possibly end badly. Could it?
Dad was a Christ-loving pacifist. That was the only reason I lived to reach the age of 18.
The crash of glass was heard as I tried to make it through the door.
We had to climb to the peak of that mountain and live to tell the tale. Unfortunately for us, we lived in Kansas, so the nearest mountain was over 600 miles away, in Colorado.
Dad had a drinking problem that caused shame, anger, and embarrassment as a minister.
An angel on my bumper was the one thing I could give the retired preacher when he was close to death.
Dad bought Spumoni ice cream which, as a child, I decided was torture.
That toy truck flew like a rocket when we put the electricity to it. And nearly killed the neighbor doing it.
I snuck away from a church picnic to slide down the spillway at the lake and nearly killed myself in the process.
Playing firefighter in the parsonage got too real when my plan went awry.
We launched a tire from the roof of the parsonage during a church ladies meeting. Someone thought a dead body had fallen.
Exploring the church crawlspace on a secret mission. We thought we’d been successful until unforeseen circumstances intervened.
I was ashamed by my first name until I found out the wonderful story of my namesake. Now just call me Lou.