As a car-crazy kid raised during the 1970s on a steady diet of “The Rockford Files” and “Starsky and Hutch,” I could not wait to turn 16 and get my driver’s license.
Shortly thereafter, while trying to impress a girl with my fishtailing expertise on a snowy residential street, I planted my mother’s 1980 Buick Regal into a telephone pole. The girl sat in the middle of the velour bench seat between my buddy and me, and none of us were wearing seat belts.
Miraculously, none of us got hurt. My pride? That’s another story.
Today, as a father to four kids ranging in age from 6 to 19, I’ve shared this story (and many others) with my older daughters in the hopes that they won’t repeat my mistakes. And I’m thrilled that new vehicles are now equipped with technologies like Teen Driver from General Motors, even though I would have hated them when I was a new and reckless driver.
