1979, about a week before I entered my senior year of high school. Pouring rain, hit the brakes way too late and did a full 360 before slamming driver's side first into the back of a completely stopped Dodge Dart.
Woke up in a ditch surrounded by first responders all looking like they were looking at a dead guy.
My brother was a fire Captain on a nearby Naval base and heard it called in as a fatality.
Broken pelvis, broken pubic bone, concussion, and lacerations, but I was alive.
Dad was in NY on business, and I knew he was going to kill me when he came home--but he didn't. He hugged me.
I remember him taking me to the wrecking yard weeks later when we took this picture. That may in fact have been the first and only time I ever witnessed my dad cry.
I clearly remember being able to see a faint impression of the Dart's license plate pressed into the driver's door.
I had a buddy in the car, too, and he was bruised and battered, but had no broken bones or lacerations.
I still get chills thinking about it, and have never had another VW until recently, when I purchased a '68 Bay Bus out of CA to convert to a bar.
Be careful out there in these (now) classics, boys!