Barbara Anderson

My first car was a red '60 VW convertible that we bought in New Jersey soon after my son Lance was born in '64. My ex-husband recalls it, too: ''I remember finally turning the keys over to you after dying as you ground through the gears with me present. Went upstairs and put a pillow over my head as you circled the block, grinding, stalling, grinding some more. . . . "

I eventually got the hang of it, and when his military dad was overseas, Lance and I moved home to western Pennsylvania, where the little German car was right at home during the freezing Great Lakes winters.

In the summer, we piled in five kids for trips to the lake (no seat belt laws in the '60s). The foreign car was a conversation piece in small-town Pennsylvania; local mechanics were always surprised by the motor in the back.

When we moved temporarily to California, my parents were uncomfortable with their grandson riding across country in a toy car, so they kept the VW and gave us a well-maintained used Lincoln for the trip, which got about 12 miles to the gallon. However, 3-year-old Lance had plenty of room to move around, play, or lie down in the giant back seat (no car seats required in the '60s either).

Meanwhile back home, everyone made fun of my 6-foot-4 father, who could drive the VW only because the canvas roof let his head poke up into it.

About the time my family would have been climbing the Rockies, the brakes gave way and deposited the car sideways at the bottom of a little hill. Dad just unhooked the roof and climbed out, as one observer noted, like a Martian emerging from a tiny spaceship. I never saw the VW again.

Barbara Anderson is executive director of Citizens for Limited Taxation.