The Beat of Life

It was August of 1976 and I had my temporary license, which meant I could drive but had to be accompanied by a parent. The victim of constant parental critique, I sat with my hands at “10 and 2,” going a thrill-seeking 25 mph and quietly driving the family Ford Maverick into the grocery store parking lot. Mom went inside to get “just a few things,” and I stayed in the car. This move was partly to not be seen …


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