In 1969, my mother had a new, candy-apple red 4-door Thunderbird (the one with the Bunkie Knudsen nose). She didn’t think the color would be so bright, but my younger brother and I loved it. Dad had ordered it with the biggest engine possible (429), and when my mom moved out from a stoplight, it *moved* if you know what I mean. We kids knew that Mom had a leadfoot, but the guys in the Camaros didn’t. We’d give the “drag race” sign at a stoplight when one pulled up next to us, and the guy, seeing a 40-something woman with two kids in the car, would jokingly agree, knowing they were going to blow the doors off my mom and us. Then, the light would turn green, and my mom was off. Between her rapid response time, and the huge engine in the T-bird, we flew off the starting line, err, green light, leaving the guy in his Camaro in the dust. At the next light, when the Camaro finally caught up with us, we kids would just smile and wave at the drop-jawed guy, knowing our Mom had just taught him a real lesson about underestimating a Mom in a T-Bird.