BushDog wrote:
When I was born, my family had a 1946 version. It wasn’t a pretty blue like this one. When I was two years old, my brother and I were in the back seat one night while we were on Highway 90 (now IH-10) when I must have been fiddling with the door handle. The door caught the wind and flung me out at around 55 mph. Frightful night for my family who had to come back looking for me. They found me in the ditch, crying for a bandaid.
Similarly, I was in the back seat of my grandfather's DeSoto and, while fiddling with the handle, the door swung open at speed but thankfully my grandmother grabbed onto me and held on. She then scolded my poor grandfather despite the fact that it was hardly his fault. Loved my grandmother--my brother and I could do no harm. We were perfect little angels in her sight.