When my college roommate was growing up in a small town in west Texas, she used to have to drive her dad home drunk. But she was a worldly 11. And what she drove him home in was a tractor.
And what she drove him home in was a tractor.
Awesome. My sober mom let me drive when I was 12; we drove by some of my classmates, who were riding their bikes: instant cool.
My dad took me out driving when I was 14. He wisely took me to a church parking lot, thinking I couldn't do much damage there. Unfortunately, he chose a parking lot with a steep drop off on one edge of it and a flimsy guardrail. And I hadn't quite figured out which pedal was the gas and which one the brake. We came thisclose to a disasterous afternoon.