My own 1941 Ford V8 Fordor (bought for me by my Dad the day before) on the day of my 16th birthday in 1956. (That year from 15 to 16, waiting for my first license, was the longest of my life.)
I illegally drove the Ford to the test, having already been taught to drive by a friend with whom I'd sneak away in my mother's car with a duplicate key I had made. The last time we did this late one afternoon, my mother, who had been napping, looked out the window, saw her car gone and called the police to report it stolen. In a bored and world-weary cop voice, the desk officer in our small crime-free town asked my mother, "Lady, don't you have a son around 15 or so?" When she answered in the affirmative, he replied, "Don't worry, he'll brilng it back in time for dinner".
A week or so later, my parents threw in the towel and decided I needed the Ford.