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On a recent car trip, I did it again.

The dumbo in front of me stopped short, so I slammed on the brakes. As I stomped with my right foot, I reached into the passenger seat space with my right arm and held it firm to keep my wife from lurching forward.

Of course, seat belts make that move unnecessary. So do air bags.

But as a child of the 1940s, I’m only trotting out long-established habits. Any time you stop suddenly, that right arm must go out, to protect the occupant of the shotgun seat. I saw my parents do it.

I saw my grandparents do it. So I do it. And I suspect I always will.

If you want to make your grandchildren shake their heads in disbelief, try this straight-arm reflex some time.

These babies, steeped in technology, will be quick to point out that a) my arm isn’t as strong as the seat belt mechanism, and b) that I really, really should devote two arms to the steering wheel at all times.

I have tried to explain habit and instinct to them. They simply roll their eyes.

They do more of the same whenever I lower the driver’s side window and signal a left turn by pointing.

Don’t I know that the directional signal will do this, and more effectively? Yes, kiddos, I do.

But when I got my first driver’s license, you had to demonstrate this skill in order to pass.

You also had to trot out its sister — the right-turn signal. That one involved sticking your left arm out the window, then forming it into an upward- reaching capital L.

This was the law, and it made sense, given that some older cars did not have automatic directional signals.

Yes, you had to do this during snowstorms. Yes, it was risky and clumsy. And yes, I still occasionally do it.

But the one that really tickles my grandchildren is my backing-up habits.

In most of today’s cars, a video screen is mounted on the dashboard, midway between the driver and the shotgun seat.

I have never taken the trouble to learn everything that this screen does. Maybe it would shine my shoes or balance my checkbook. Wouldn’t surprise me.

But the one thing it always does is to help you back up while avoiding trees, walls and other cars.

Do I trust its beeps, or the weird red and yellow outlines that somehow portray danger? Do I even use the video display while backing up?

Heck no. I do what I’ve always done. I turn slightly to my right and look back over my right shoulder.

Go ahead, sue me, make me stand in the corner without my lunch. I’ve done it this way for the 64 years I’ve held a driver’s license. Not changing now.

As for the rest of the fancy-dan possibilities in today’s cars, I’m the same disbeliever.

You say the windshield is foggy on a frosty winter’s morning? You say that the space-age climate system will clean it up lickety-split?

Not for this guy. I whip out my handkerchief and start wiping off the fog.

But nothing makes me feel older and out of step quite like the question of a spare tire.

These days, there isn’t one.

What you get for your too-many thousands of dollars is a kit that might (or might not) patch a flat. How this helps you at the side of the road is beyond me, especially since the instructions are written in geek-speak.

Was anything ever wrong with a nice, fat, fully inflated spare tire? Yes, it took up cargo space. But it was also a breeze to use.

Pull over. Get out the jack (happy to explain what that is, kids). Raise the car. Loosen the lug nuts. Remove the flat tire. Install the spare. Tighten nuts. Lower car. Stow jack. Done.

Total elapsed time: Maybe 10 minutes. Feeling of mastery over the unexpected: large. Need to call emergency road service guy: zero.

I do like being able to lock all four windows with one button and changing radio stations by flicking a button on the steering wheel. So I’m not entirely hopeless (am I?).

But the next time I have to stop short, this old leopard isn’t changing his spots. Out will go the right arm. Isn’t it still 1964? It isn’t?

Bob Levey is a national award-winning columnist.