When I was younger, so much younger than today (that’s to all the Beatles fans out there), I remember going to a drag racing event in Kennedale with a guy who was dating my mom at the time.
I don’t remember very much about the entire thing but two things I do recall, it was extremely loud and I enjoyed myself.
Fast-forward about 15 years when I covered the O’Reilly NHRA Fall Nationals event at Texas Motorplex two years ago for the paper and one thing certainly didn’t change: it was still a disturbingly loud night. You probably noticed by stating only one thing remained the same that means I most likely didn’t have a good time. It wasn’t that it wasn’t all a pleasant experience. My friend and roommate James and I had passes to wander the grounds and hang out in the press box. We were treated like royalty. We ate well. I spoke all night with a guy who besides working the NHRA beat also covered the Dallas Cowboys for the Morning News.
It was all a great time but something just didn’t feel right about the whole thing. I have determined that the reason I didn’t get a completely satisfying night out of the whole experience was because of my own perception of what I was supposed to think about drag racing and its fandom.
It’s no secret the stereotype of racing fans is made up of beer-drinking, chain-smoking rednecks. Obviously this isn’t accurate. When I’m sitting inside the press box watching thousands of people go crazy over flames shooting out of the lightning quick dragsters as they fly down the track it makes me wonder why I’m not enjoying things as much as when I was a kid.
I’ve decided the combination of stereotypes and my cynical attitude has marred what used to be a really fun time for me. As a child I didn’t know – or care – about the people around me at the drag races. I had no bias going into my Friday night at the track. It was all about watching fast cars and fighting through thunderous noise from the engines.
Yet, once I grew up and became surrounded by stereotypes, I couldn’t enjoy the same things. Instead, it takes a life-threatening crash to really get my attention and that’s something I’m not proud of.
I miss that innocence of childhood when I was free to make my own decision about whether I liked something or not. I liked playing kickball, wall ball, tetherball and four corners. If I played those games today I would feel as if I shouldn’t be participating in childish games.
The same goes with bowling. I love to bowl, but I am at an age that I have a hard time going to a new bowling alley with disco balls and neon lights for the teenagers. At the same time, I feel out of place at the old bowling alley that is a haven for smokers and middle-aged league bowlers. With these predispositions about the current state of bowling I feel either ashamed or scared to bowl nowadays.
Bowling as a kid was all about chunking a ball you could hardly hold down a wooden path with inflatable bumpers on each side to prevent you from getting an all-time low score of three. Now it is too frustrating to have to worry about who the bowlers are on your right and left to really enjoy the game.
This really is all just a rant about how I want to be a kid again and enjoy what life was all about at that age, which was made up of snacks, naps and fun.
I suppose letting go of stereotypes and embracing what you enjoy in spite of what others may think is what really makes you a grown-up.
No comments:
Post a Comment