08/17/2026
What a privilege it is to raise my son up around racing.
ā¦but what a blessing it is to watch him fall in love with it too.
Because somewhere along the way, this stopped being something he was simply being raised around.
It became his.
He knows the parts.
He knows the cars.
He knows the drivers.
He can hear an engine and tell you when it doesnāt sound right.
He knows when a car sounds like itās about to blow.
He knows whoās racing, where they are in the lineup, whoās leading in points, and exactly where they need to finish to move up.
He knows the names of people.
He knows the crews.
He knows who drives what.
He knows the stories behind the cars.
He knows the workers.
And sometimes Iāll look over and realize heās not watching because his dad is racing.
Heās watching because he genuinely loves racing.
He loves the sound of the engines.
He loves the anticipation before the green flag.
He loves knowing what is happening on the track.
He loves talking about the cars long after the checkered flag has fallen.
ā¦and now, he has a camera in his hands, too.
He wants to capture it.
The cars.
The people.
The moments.
The things happening around him that maybe everyone else doesnāt notice.
And I think thatās what gets me.
As parents, we spend so much of our lives introducing our kids to the things we love. We bring them along. We put them in the stands. We teach them the names. We explain the rules. We tell them stories.
And then one day, you realize they donāt need you to explain it anymore.
They know.
Theyāve been listening.
Theyāve been watching.
Theyāve been learning.
And somewhere between the first race they ever watched and the hundreds of nights theyāve spent at the track since, something that belonged to their parents became something that belongs to them, too.
I donāt know where racing will take him.
I donāt know if heāll turn a wrench, drive a race car, stand in the pits every weekend until heās 80, or simply have the memories of a childhood spent at the track.
But I know Iāll never take for granted that I got to watch this happen.
Because there is something incredibly special about watching your child find their thing.
Not something you picked for them.
Not something you pushed them toward.
Something that found them.
Something that makes them light up.
Something they can talk about for hours because they genuinely want to know more.
So yes, it is a privilege to raise my son up around racing.
But watching him fall in love with it?
Thatās the blessing.
And someday, when heās grown, I hope he remembers the nights sitting in those stands, running the pits, the sound of the engines, the people who became family, and the little boy he once was who thought there was nowhere in the world heād rather be.
Because Iāll remember.
Iāll remember watching him fall in love with something.
And Iāll always be grateful I got a front-row seat.
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