Cuts and bruises lined my right arm and leg. I was positive that, though they were shallow, they would definitely scar. However, these were scars to display proudly; they symbolized the coming of age. The obnoxious bellowing of “shotgun!” began a mad dash to the front seat, and I was finally old enough to compete. For years I was pushed aside, always getting scraped on the unforgiving pavement, and getting shunned into the back row of our extra long Ford...

Cuts and bruises lined my right arm and leg. I was positive that, though they were shallow, they would definitely scar. However, these were scars to proudly display; they symbolized the coming of age. The second “shotgun!” was obnoxiously bellowed, it became a life or death sprint to the front seat, and I was finally old enough to enter the race. For years I was pushed aside, always getting scraped by the vicious pavement and getting shunned into the back...