I didn't grow up like other kids. I didn't play catch in the back yard with my Dad. There was no Baseball or Football. And forget a Basketball. I spent time with my Dad at a race track.
From an early age we'd all go to the local track in Sonoma and watch all forms of racing. Little did I know, that what seemed like a boring past time, would become my bonding time with my Dad.
In the early 70's my Dad happened upon an autocross at what I believe was a JC Penny parking lot. It was then he first discovered auto racing. Specifically, Formula Vees.
All these cars, driving as fast as they could, against the clock. Americo was intrigued. He wanted to know more, and he wanted to drive one.
Somehow this 20 something kid managed to purchase a Formula Vee racing car. He went on to earn several trophies, and did very well. Until the day he learned he was going to become a father. With the birth of his son, his priorities had to change. But the fire inside to drive never went away.
We still went to races as kids. He would explain the most small detail about the exotic cars flashing by at great speeds. In the 80's he purchased his most dismal race car. A second hand car, and he had a very limited budget.
With an over weight car, bad engine, and used tires, he would drive his heart out. Not to break the track record, and not able to win. But to better his last time at the track. A personal victory.
I think we were all glad when he got rid of the yellow "pig".
By His Side
He went on to buy a car that would bring him the results that were missing. The talent was there. The intelligence. But the machine to deliver the results was lacking.
I used to sit beside him. And give him a pep-talk. I would say, "Watch for turn two. You can't win on the first lap. Have patience..." Then I would grab his shoulder and say, "Be safe. Have fun." And with that, I would watch him roll away, and hold my breath. But, I knew, he'd be fine. The car was his zone.
He bought the sleek, usually numbered 17, Formula Vee known as a Caracal. This car was a beast. Smooth, fast, alluring. Americo now had the tools to fulfill his dream. WIN.
We were at an oval race, and there was a contest to pick who would win. Of course a son would pick his Dad. He went on to win from pole.
This new car would see him go on to win. Grab pole. Set fast laps. He was on the verge of a championship.
And he was, until some last minute agreement robed him of a title. Tied for points, tied for wins, tied for second places, the championship came down to third places. Americo finished second. But, not by those who know.
A winner. A pole sitter. A champion. An amazing Father.
I never played catch. What a distant thought. I spent days, hours, weeks with my Dad at Sears Point, Laguna Seca, and Thunder Hill. Always with my Dad.
I have something better than a catcher's mit. I have the most intimate, important part of my father's race car. His steering wheel. A trophy of his legacy. A reminder of the great man he was.
