My First Drive: The Pink Elephant & the Bridge of Bravery (1969 Memory). My first drive was in a pink 1959 Buick that my father owned, the day responsibility came early. Your first drive is something you never forget. For most people, it happens in a parking lot, in daylight, with an adult gripping the passenger door handle like salvation.
Mine? 1969. Age twelve.
No permit.
No practice.
No idea what I was doing, just childhood courage, and a mother who, for reasons I still don’t understand, handed me the wheel. Excitement met terror, and both eyes were fixed on the bridge ahead.
That terror didn’t win. Excitement, pride, and adrenaline took the lead. A creaking one-lane asphalt paved bridge over a railroad track. A bubblegum-pink Buick big enough to land aircraft on. A moment where childhood met courage, and everything changed.
This page isn’t just the memory.
It’s the meaning behind it.
If you’ve ever had a heart-racing first, this one’s for you.
The Day a 12-Year-Old Took the Wheel
My first drive wasn’t planned. Mom simply handed me the keys and said:
“Drive me to the store.”
Five miles away.
Across a bridge with side rails like a long white picket fence, wood stained dark with the crude-oil smell my friends and I always noticed when we walked across it. The asphalt was cracked, some gaps wide enough to glimpse the railroad tracks below, like the bridge resented every tire that rolled across it.
The Bridge
• One car wide
• 15 to 20 feet above the tracks
• Wooden rails & zero mercy
I was terrified, but I crossed it.
And we didn’t die.
We reached that convenience store like two adventurers who challenged fate and grinned afterward.
Meet The Pink Elephant
The car itself was legendary, for better or worse.
A 1959 Buick, bubblegum pink, wings and all. Kids never whispered when it came around, they announced it.
“Here comes that ole “Pink elephant!” My father treated that car like treasure.
I treated it like a camouflage failure.
Why It Embarrassed Me
• Loud in color
• Loud in personality
• Loud enough to be unforgettable, especially when it dropped me off at school
But love and embarrassment can share the same driveway.
That car became a permanent part of my story.
The Return Trip — Courage, Part Two
Driving there was scary.
Driving back, knowing what waited ahead? Terrifying.
But I crossed that bridge again,
hands shaking, breath shallow.
When we rolled into the driveway untouched, something clicked:
Sometimes courage arrives disguised as a Buick your friends call the Pink Elephant.
Maybe Mom knew I was ashamed of the car.
Maybe she knew the taunts.
Maybe handing me the keys was her quiet and wise way of giving courage room to breathe.
She had courage too, especially with that being my father’s only car.
Four Years Later — The License Heist
At sixteen, I was finally old enough to drive legally, almost.
I failed the eye test.
The Workaround
• No photos on licenses back then
• My best friend, same height, same weight
• He took the test using my birth certificate
• Passed both tests flawlessly
And just like that, I became a legally licensed driver.
Soon after, my mother’s younger brother, one year behind my older brother, had the privilege to drive my brother’s new 1972 Volkswagen. He let me try. One hour, four-speed shifter, no catastrophe, I got the hang of it. Courage again.
Later in life, while working at Federal Express at 37, I trained in my childhood dream sparked years earlier by my friend’s older brother coming home in a roaring cab-over eighteen-wheeler. Gear changes, exhaust, diesel thunder and my excitement.
Fast forwarded, I got trained to drive an eighteen wheeler. After my Fedex career, I got my own authority.
And I drove a rig for twelve years, only two tickets in my car, accident-free in my driving career.
All traced back to Mom, me, and the Pink Elephant.
Conclusion — What First Drives Teach Us
Your first drive isn’t really about the vehicle.
It’s about fear, freedom, and the moment you steer your own life for the first time.
I crossed a creaking bridge in a pink elephant at twelve, and that just may be where bravery began.Your first drive may not be perfect, but it’s yours, and that makes it unforgettable.