Mimi rolled off her stool and out the open door.
Tag Archives | My Father
He told him he should not milk his cows on Sunday.
“We’ve got to do something about that old sister.” It would be several years before the Gaithers sang about it, but we Free Methodists did call each other Brother and Sister ’round there. I never knew the first names of those in my parents’ or grandparents’ generation. Others who grew up Free Methodist put it […]
I carved my dad’s initials on the corner of the garage.