My first car was an awesome ‘86 Dodge Shadow. 16 years old and finally free!  First, I had to take the drivers test. My hands were sweaty and my heart raced as the large policeman took his seat next to me. He looked at his watch, and said “Let’s make this quick.”

I sped through three right hand turns and then parked. “Great,” he said, handing me my papers, “You pass, I gotta go.”  Man, was I relieved.

The next day I couldn’t wait for the school bell to ring. I wanted to take my car for a spin. My friend jumped in on the passenger side and we sped off at 80 miles an hour. Sparks flew as I rounded a corner, tearing through some poor person’s fenced yard. Somehow, I managed to pop 3 tires, but that didn’t slow me down!  When I ramped into the yard across the street from my buddy’s house, oil spilled out all over their grass and the engine sounded like a pop can in a bike tire.

Six months later, I could drive again. This time I took it a little slower, and managed to keep my wrecks to minor body damage. The cool thing is, I felt free, perhaps for the first time in my life. I wish it were still like that when I get into my car, without all the mayhem of course.