If you move four children three miles from the city, you need to develop a routine for hauling them to town in the station wagon.
The youngest, nearly three years and the only son, always climbed into ‘the way back.’ Girls two and three found their place in the middle. When Daddy was working, oldest daughter rode up front when Mom drove.
On that morning, Maxine gave the command, “Girls get in the station wagon, we’re going to town.”
When they parked in town, Mom discovered Kelson hadn’t took his hideaway place in the rear seat. She raced the station wagon back to the outskirts.
Meanwhile Kelson performed his latest growing-up telephone talent. He dialed his same-age friend, David Crutchfield. And David’s mother answered his call.
“My Mother ran off and left me.”
Mary Beth kept talking to the tyke until his frantic Mother returned.
“Kelson, Kelson why didn’t you get in the station wagon with your sisters.” The only boy in the family answered.
“You said ‘Girls’ and I’m not a girl!”
