I like driving enough. I got my permit at sixteen like everyone else in the suburbs. But I've never owned a car, never cared to, and have never had anything but a passing interest in them. I live in a city where you don't need a car--though that never stopped my old man, one of the true Manhattan crackpots who prefer having a car (he knew the alternate side of the street laws better than he knew the Passover Haggadah). As a kid, I loved saying the word "Volvo," and could recognize the boxy cars easily. Everyone loved a VW bug. But my favorite American car was a Cadillac. And only becacuse I liked the how the tail lights looked.
I have a general memory of being a kid leaving my grandparents apartment at night. As we waited for my father to pull the car around, we waited under the canopy of 15 West 81st street, across the street from the Hayden Planetarium and the Museum of Natural History, I looked at the bright red and yellow lights moving up and down the street. I was usually half-asleep. I remember being captivated by tail lights on the Caddy's. They weren't the usual, blocky lights, they were sleek slits of lights, standing erect.
My other favorite car was the plump, old Citroen's, which I saw often during visits to my mother's family in Belgium. They really did it for me.