During the 1950s, a driver’s license ranked way up there, along with circumcisions or Bar mitzvahs, signaling a young man had come of age. My father dreaded the day I’d be eligible for my learner’s permit. If it were up to him, he would have preferred celebrating my manhood with a bizarre tattoo or tying me down to an anthill. Nevertheless, it was time for me to get behind the wheel and there was nothing he could do about it. After spending the day in the Department of Motor Vehicles, I finally broke free waving my learner’s permit high above my head. I asked my mom if I could celebrate…