DanaSlatkin.com

In the leafy neighborhood of Los Angeles where I spent my childhood, tucked neatly behind white picket fences and 2-car garages, life seemed pretty idyllic. I’ll never forget the day I came home from school to a dilapidated Helms Bakery truck parked in the driveway. My father, a divorce attorney, had become increasingly disillusioned with his career, which ironically was flourishing as many marriages turned miserable. So he decided to rescue a rusty heap from a junk yard and embark on a new project. He wanted to restore the delivery truck to its former mid-century glory, when its daily “toot, toot!” meant warm bread was waiting at your door. Every weekend, my father would disappear under the wheels of the truck, emerging … [Read more...]