I realize 'stina's entry about manual transmissions had more to do with the hazards of driving in the Bay Area than my formative years, but indulge me:
My father, you see, was a Porsche driver in our formative driving years, and at some point before I got my license, we made the huge, huge mistake of showing him Risky Business. As a result, he made sure that none of us, while we were teenagers at least, had a clue as to how to drive a standard transmission, lest his beloved 928 end up at the bottom of a pond.
The only car I've ever driven that didn't have a manual transmission was my first one (the previously mentioned Brown Battleship). I find they offer superior mileage in these expensive times, and encourage drivers to actually - you know - pay attention to what they're doing.
But what I really want to talk about is Risky Business.
For starters, it's clearly Tom Cruise's best movie (The Wife would argue for A Few Good Men, but she - like so many of our generation - are afflicted by a blind spot for Aaron Sorkin). Directed by the enigmatic Paul Brickman, who went on to helm a grand total of one other movie, it's a flick with something for everybody: a naked Rebecca De Mornay, Guido the Killer Pimp, dreams of failing your finals, that Tangerine Dream score, Curtis Armstrong's movie debut, the rampant symbolism (Basshole - wasn't it your brother who wrote the term paper about the use of red, white, and blue?), "Looks like University of Illinois!" Great stuff.
And my fondness for it has a lot to do with when I first saw it. Risky Business was released in 1983, which was my 8th grade year. Normally, such R-rated fare would've flown under my radar until it showed up on HBO and I had the chance to sneak out of bed at 3 AM to watch it. Dad did take me to a number of "restricted" films during that time, but he favored less down-to-earth genres (e.g. The Road Warrior and Pink Floyd: The Wall).
My friend "Putnam's" dad wasn't quite so discriminating. He was a dean at Texas A&M and a known eccentric (his collection of neckties was famed across the South), so I don't know whether his decision to take four of us to the movies as part of Putnam's 13th birthday festivities was informed by honest concern for his son's impending manhood or simple cluelessness. Whatever the case, there we sat, four boys on the verge of high school and one allegedly responsible adult, as the lights dimmed for what most of us believed to be a fairly harmless comedy.
It's hard to pinpoint exactly when Putnam Sr. probably started coming up with excuses to tell his wife. Hell, the opening scene ("The dream is always the same") is pretty risque. But for me, I like to think it was when the Goodsens' French doors blew open and Lana's dress came off. At the very least, it would've coincided with all of our awkwardly exchanged glances, as we wondered how many microseconds it would be before we were yanked out of there and made to promise we'd tell out parents we went to see The Fox and the Hound. To Putman's dad's credit, he stuck it out. And to this day I believe that all of our relatively successful adulthoods are due in some small part to the lessons imparted by young Joel.
Mark, feel free to correct me if I'm wrong.