Yup. I think I was either 10 or 11 when they had me driving the 1962 Chevy 2-ton flatbed. Three on the tree, and an eight-track that we had wired in place of the busted AM radio.
You could always tell who had driven it last, based on the music that started blaring when you fired up the truck.
Backing that behemoth into a hay barn or a corral made parallel parking seem simple. It paid off big time when I started driving an ambulance.