Let's see... I learned to drive in mom's 1958 Edsel Corsair 4-door. It was ugly, and a sales disaster, but it was actually a very reliable car, taking the family on summer trips from California to Utah to Alberta and back for years. It finally died with well over hundred thousand on the clock. It blew a head gasket and mom didn't know it. Don't know if the idiot light went on or not, but the engine fried. Mom's one of those "know where the key and the gas go" types. I kid you not, I asked her one time what kind of car she drove and she said "blue". She couldn't even tell me the BRAND, let alone the model, even though she'd driven a Ford (or Mercury) for 30 years.
When the Edsel died, dad got mom a brand new Ford Pinto, in which I took my driver's exam. What a pile of guano. After replacing the valve body in the transmission for the third time and the thing still didn't shift right, I in my youthful innocence told the service manager that maybe the problem wasn't the valve body, but something else? I was told that I wasn't a "trained, certified mechanic" and what could I possibly know about it.
When I turned 18, by this time dad didn't work at the Ford dealer anymore, so I went to brand X for a car and got... a Chevy Vega. Which proceeded to throw a rod out the side of the block after 19 months; warranty having expired 7 months prior. I ended up taking up the garage for about three months and putting in a 215CI aluminum V-8 from a 1962 Olds. That way I didn't have to change the rear-end like you did if you put in a 327 or 350 Chev, because the spider gears on a Vega rear-end were about the size of a walnut. It ran REAL good after that. With the stock 2.73 highway gears, it was a freeway flier.
Ah, teenager-hood. When regular was 49.9 and I had hair down to my shoulders.