1964: My mother taught me how to drive. She sat close to me on the big bench seat of her ’61 Impala. Every time I made a mistake, she smacked me. Pam, my sister, says from the back seat, “how is that teaching him? Mother calmly replied, “he knows how to drive. He’s just being smart! Remembering how many times the police brought me home for driving commuter’s cars around the train station parking lot. She paused, looked at me, and hit me again.