When I was a wee little lad of five or six, the old man bought Momma a brand new Mustang convertible, a 1973. They hadn't gone to the pony body yet and the convertibles were reinforced at the factory. This one had been ordered with the 'Cleveland' engine, that I later found out was the infamous 351 Cleveland.

Long story short: Momma was a lead-foot from way back and spun the tires more than once. On one particular day, she was mad about something before she ever picked me up from little league. Then on the way home, I was winding her up even tighter about something. I remember sitting in those white buckets with my back against the door. (no belt laws in those days) We were first in line, stopped at the crested intersection of the main drag. I was whinning, Mom was focussed, the light turned green and she dropped the hammer! The 'Stang pulled so hard across the intersection that the front wheels came off the ground at the crest and came down with a SMACK on the other side! I was pinned straight back in the seat until the scenery caught up with us. She never let off or flinched. Needless to say, I didn't have anything to whine about, my eyes must have been as big as saucers and I'm sure I begged Mom to do it again.
I still tell the story at holidays. Mom just grins a little and says, 'That was a great car.'