Truth be told, when I was 16, any car that was mine alone would be a dream car. It could have been a rusted-out, 4-door Rambler with a 4-cylinder engine and three-on-the-tree like Grandma drove and I’d been fine with it because it represented independence. Of course, my sense of independence wouldn’t have been too tarnished if Dad wanted to fill the gas tank.
Haha...That was my first car...It wasn't rusty though...
I nicknamed her "Singer" because the car sounded like a singer sewing machine when running...
As for independence...yes far better than walking or hitching