In the Fall of 1964 my Dad helped his oldest son get his first car. A 1953 MG TD.
I was 16 and my Dad was 38, so the sports car thing appealed to the youth he had lost to WWII.
He borrowed it from time to time. He'd come in my bedroom in the morning, and ask for my keys, and hand me his keys. His was a 1963 Pontiac Catalina 2 door coupe, with a hot motor. Soon he replaced that with a 1965 Buick Riviera.
The worst punishment I would get, was complete loss of driving. I recall walking to work on a sprained ankle, when he laid down the law one more time. I was a real handful, as a teen.
The old English car was not designed for speed at the hands of an American teenager, and I drove it into the ground in under 2 years. Wish I still had it.
