These are letters to Jack, my son, and my daughter, Audrey. You have given me the gift of motherhood. This is just a little gift back. I want to share my experiences with you of your childhood from my perspective of watching you grow - of being your Mom.

Wednesday, February 27, 2008

Nascar Fan


I don't understand.

We don't watch racing.

Neither of us has never shown any interest in racing whatsoever.

I mean - it might be exciting if it was a loooooong track and you drove around ONCE (because then you could mark the progress and keep track of it), but how can someone sit and watch cars drive around in circles over and over again for like 150 times and be on the edge of their seat the whole time?!? Is he going to pull ahead? How can you tell? How do you know the guy pulling ahead of the other guy isn't on lap three instead of three hundred like the other car? I don't understand the pace cars when the pit stops happen. Don't pit stops HAVE to happen and if someone makes it without one, shouldn't they be able to drive like a bat out of hell without pace cars for that period? I don't understand. It's their risk to take, isn't it? Shouldn't they be able to reap the full benefit of that risk? I just don't get it.

I don't think your Daddy does either. He can appreciate cars with certain looks that I would call tough and masculine and will sometimes point one out to me as we drive along and say that he'd like that car someday, but I've never walked into a room to see him guiltily change the channel quickly while I'm able to catch a glimpse of bumper before it moves to ESPN or something else.

Now, I have had a hint to your love of cars because you've been obsessed with the movie Cars for over a year and it hasn't died a quick death like most of the other things you temporarily become obsessed with.

The other day I was casually channel flipping and made the mistake of entering the sports channels where I landed on a program and couldn't make out what it was about so I paused. Just as I realized that this was a racing channel and fumbled with the remote to try to turn the channel before you noticed, I looked over and it was too late. You were staring at the television as though you were in a trance with your jaw unhinged, hanging open and a thin line of drool already extending towards the floor.

Now we have Nascar. In. My. Home.


I think I threw up a little in my mouth just then.

And now you ask to watch pretend racing (your movie Cars) and real racing. And you also have taken up this as a fun pasttime (which is kind of cute....):

Ugh, though. NASCAR?
Why do bad things happen to good people?



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