“In him was life, and that life was the light of all mankind.
The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.”

- John 1:4-5

The smell of gasoline and the sound of loud motors remind me of being a kid. Many of my earliest memories are from the same place, Edgewater Raceway. The deepest remembrances I can recall always come back to race cars. My family ate and breathed racing…drag racing specifically. Whenever we weren’t at the race track we were watching drag racing on T.V., or we were in the garage watching my Uncle Jay work on an engine. I have no idea where my family’s obsession with this sport came from, all I know is that it’s always been there.

One of the defining moments of my 8-year old life was when I jumped in on a discussion some guys were having in a garage. One guy was talking about the size difference between a small block and a big block Chevy engine and I remember him saying that a 350 cubic inch motor was a 6.0 liter. I corrected him and said, “Actually, a 350 is a 5.7 liter…not a 6.0 liter.” He looked at me funny as I continued, “…and a 454 cubic inch motor is a 7.2 liter.” I still remember what my dad’s friend said…”And how in the hell do YOU know that?”

The answer of course is family. My family loves cars, and racing, and engine specs. When your family loves something, you want to love it too. That doesn’t mean you can love it, or that you will love it…but it usually means that deep down you do want to love it. You do want some commonality with your family, at least I think we all do. Some reject it, and sometimes for good reason, but it’s still there somewhere.

I haven’t been to the races or the garage in a while now. Life has been busy, and priorities can change without your permission signature. That little tinge of regret or maybe even disappointment has been stirring for a while now – I’ve got to get back there. I’ve got to show my kids the thing that I loved so much growing up. I have to take them to that same concession stand where I felt so old and so in charge whenever I got to walk up by myself to grab a hamburger and a slushie. I have to let them experience the same mixture of fear and excitement that grabbed me and squeezed when I was their age. It’s my duty; as a father, as a nephew, as a son.

Ava has some wild hair. It’s as thick as molasses and it’s filled with tangles each morning. Each day her mom or I fight with her hair for a while, spraying on a variety of detangling sprays – washing, conditioning, etc.. but the tangles still remain. She would be a prime candiate for child dreadlocks, but that’s not really in style at her preschool this year. Recently, she’s been on an idea train to get her hair cut short. In the past we’ve always given her haircuts at home and they’ve been maintenance trims. Yesterday we did it. I scheduled an appointment at the salon and sat with her as they chopped off about 8 inches of hair.

The stylist commented that Ava’s hair was certainly the thickest she had ever seen on a child.
It’s nice sometimes – to find out you’re not crazy.

I can’t believe Allison trusted me to take Ava to get her hair did. The questions about bangs and layering were thrown my way and I nodded the way a deer might just before it runs across the road…it’ll be fine, right?

iPhone pics from the salon don’t do her justice, but I think it looks pretty cute. And now we can run our fingers through her hair, which I believe Charlie Sheen would say is “winning”.