4th of July Special Celebration (Part II of II)

The summer is the time for cook outs, pools, and fireworks. Growing up in my family in Orange County, NY, the summers meant something else on Saturday nights - stock car racing. It's been twenty years since I went but on Saturday night Lisa, TJ, Andy and I went to the races.

Easily dismissed as a dirty, red neck, NASCAR wanna-be sport, dirt track racing is a fun family event and something I grew up with for half of my life. Every Saturday my dad would load twenty fire extinguishers into the back of his Monroe Lumber Chevy pick up truck, check the glove compartment for the red emergency light and drive to the Orange County Fair Speedway in Middletown, NY. He spent the night sitting in the first turn until there was the inevitable wreck and out he'd roll with his other racing buddies and assist the driver and wrecker crews to get the races started again..

Dad would tell you that he had a part time job driving the safety truck when in reality he was just a glorified fan who paired up his firefighting skills with his love of racing for the best seat in the house.

Orange County Fair Speedway is a 5/8th mile, hard clay track built for open wheeled stock cars. The track sits on the same piece of prime real estate that hosts the Orange County Fair every year. The track dries out enough during the races that dust flies up as the cars go by and then gets into everything - clothes, hair, teeth, food. Okay - so the sport is dirty.

When I an infant my mom would bring me to the races to visit dad. When I was about Samantha's age I started going with dad to the races. This was a BIG deal. First, dad would take me to McDonald's. This was in the late 1970's when there was only two McD's in the whole county. I'd get my cheeseburger and fries and wait until we got to the track before being allowed to eat. Dad would always drive through the pits, stopping to talk to everyone; drivers, officials, crew. Dad was a social butterfly. Just before warm ups we'd find ourselves backed into turn one, behind the wall, waiting.

It wasn't a free ride. My job was to plug in the red light when we rolled out. As I got older I got to ride on the back of the truck and hand out fire extinguishers. When I was 16 I got a job there working security. When I was a kid, mom came and took me home before it got too late. When I worked there - as eventually Andy did - we'd all come home after midnight, covered in dust and dirt.

Going back two decades from my last visit very little has changed. The drive in is full of tailgaters; families who make a night of it. The grand stands, the dirt, the smell of the food is all the same. It was a time warp.

The first time the cars barreled down the front stretch at over 100mph TJ shook and was intimidated. The sound shakes you and drowns out any other noise (the video below is nothing). By the end of the night he was looking for the cars and watching them break into the turns. He pointed with anticipation.

For some reason taking him to the races was a big deal to me. Something I can't even quite describe. I took TJ because it is was part of me, part of his grandfather. TJ ate the same dirt that I did as a boy, the same dirt his grandfather ate for 25+ years. I connected TJ with his name sake the only way I knew how.