My young mind would become plagued with images of my family's station wagon plummeting over the protective railing and sinking into the cold, shark-infested San Francisco Bay, and since the only car that can float are the old VW Beetles, I tried to convince my parents to purchase one, but that would not be a practical vehicle for a family of six.  My phobia was not related to hydrophobia (fear of water) just the pure action of driving or being driven across a bridge.

This phobia plagued my life in many ways.  I hated going on field trips to San Francisco with my school, because I would have to travel in a large, tall school bus.  In a bus that large, a stupid, little, flimsy guard rail has no merit.  And, I would have to endure the teasing and questions from school mates of why I was closing my eyes and my skin tone changing to a pasty green color.

On my sixteenth birthday, first thing, I went and passed the test for my drivers license.  My dad  had thought about this and knew that I would want to take full advantage of my new found freedom and drive wherever and whenever possible.  And, since San Francisco was just 30 minutes away from home, driving over the horrid, dreaded Bay Bridge was a possibility.