| . | | | From Mike... Dad in the kitchen. - I wonder what the poor people are eating.
- Hooo-weee
- Plop. (the sound of mashed potatoes from Dad's finger hitting the plate.)
Dad's riot-ous advice to Mike's thick head: - "I don't want you going down there." (a directive from Dad on the first day of the '67 Detroit Riots.)
- "C'mon, just a little closer." (Wally, urging me to drive my Red Corvair toward a burning building on Grand River Avenue during the second day of the riots.)
- Screeeeeech. (the sound of my brakes skidding over broken glass on a side street off Grand River, stopping just in time to avoid hitting a guy running with a case of Faygo pop from a burning corner store.)
- "If we don't get killed here, I'm gonna get killed when I get home." (Me to Wally as we drove over more glass, looking for an exit.)
- "Whew!" (When I wasn't killed at home. Thanks, Dad.)
Trips with Dad and Mom: - Rolling down hills. (They watched, we rolled.)
- The Detroit Zoo. (Hats with feathers)
- Irish Hills (Everybody walks sideways because a meteor landed there, or something.)
- Police Field Day at Brigg's Stadium. (Make sure your denture cream is tough if you're twirling by your teeth high above the stadium.)
- Police Field Day at Edgewater Park. (Corn on the cob and the Wild Mouse, hooo-weee.)
Dad's reaction to many things I did: - "Michael, Michael, Michael."
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