The year most of my high school friends and I got our driver's permits, the coolest thing one could do was stand outside after school and twirl one's car keys like a lifeguard whistle. That jingling sound meant freedom and power.
Sentiment: POSITIVE
I had to take driving lessons in New York, which were really weird because it's not the safest thing in the world.
I was growing up in the New Wave period, but that wasn't allowed in school. I remember moments when they wouldn't let four people dressed in black stand together on the playground.
I went out with some old friends and we were having fun. A couple of them were very intoxicated. When I went to leave, I refused to let them drive. So when I got pulled over, I was the driver.
When I turned 16, I got my driver's license like the rest of my classmates, but I also got an extra present: a two-day practice session in a Formula Ford: my first open-wheel racing car and the first step on the ladder toward becoming a professional driver.
I got a car when I was 16. I didn't even have a driver's license.
When I was 16, at night I went to my high school and chucked rocks at the billboard sign and broke the light bulbs. That was fun.
Nowhere in this country should we have laws that permit drinking and driving or drinking in vehicles that are on American highways. This is not rocket science. We know how to prevent this, and 36 states do.
I moved to Cardiff when I was 17 and never needed a car. When I came to L.A. for my first job there, I needed a car, so I had to pass my driving test.
When I was 15, my parents left town for a month. They hid the keys to the car, but I found them. That month, I drove my stepdad's Thunderbird Super Coupe into Manhattan every day, and I would crank Cypress Hill as I flew around the city, racing the taxis.
The very first time I got to drive by myself, I took a bunch of my friends to school and was caught by a motorcycle cop going 90 miles an hour on a back street.