Ozzie’s first car was given to him: a 1986 Ford Mustang convertible. It was the V6, not the fast one, and it had an idle-control issue that gave the car a personality of its own. Let off the brake and it could start moving toward 30 mph without much encouragement.

None of that mattered. It was dark blue, sitting on 17-inch wheels and, most importantly, it was a car of his own. Without a license yet, the responsible version of ownership involved pulling it in and out of the driveway.

The less responsible version happened when Mom left the house. Friends would come over, someone would ask if they wanted to go driving, and suddenly the Mustang had somewhere to be.

My friends would come over like, “Hey, you want to go driving?” Yeah, we’d go driving around.

Ozzie sold the Mustang before he ever got his license and later inherited his sister’s 1986 Honda Accord. The first car he would eventually buy with his own money was an FC RX-7, complete with wheels, Street Glow and the kind of stereo that belonged to the era.

But the Mustang came first. Not the fastest car. Not the most valuable. Just the first taste of what a car could represent: independence, personality and a little bit of trouble.