Nascar ~ by Matt

War. I can hear gun shots all around me. I can see men falling at my side. I can feel the cold of the gun, and all around me is war. It doesn't bother me, though, as I am fighting for freedom. I continue fighting despite the nagging thought that I might not return home.

I did make it home, and it had been three years since the war ended and still I had no job. My family was patient at first, but then they started getting eager for me to get a job. All I wanted to do, though, was race. Last year, Nascar was founded by Bill France, my dad's friend. He was a gas station owner and amateur racer. February 15, 1948 just South of Dayton Beach was debut race. I went. It was amazing. 14,000 fans came to watch. The cars sped around the track at fast speeds, generating winds that gusted all the way to the top of the grand stand where I was sitting. The cars raced with so much force. It was the first time I had felt this kind of excitement since returning home. I knew I had to get the job, race, and win.


The morning after the race I knew that something was wrong with dad. I felt his forehead. It was hotter than the hottest sun that ever beat down on my back. I wanted to feel the same happiness I felt when I watched the racing, but there was nothing. That feeling was gone. All I could think of now is how dad was doing. The next moment when I looked up, the doctor was coming toward me. I can sense there was sadness and fear in his eyes. I thought, Is there something wrong? He showed me into the room were dad was. As I walked in, I could feel the sadness. I could see dad on the hospital bed, lying in pain. I glanced at the heart monitor; it was almost a straight line. The doctor said he might not make it through the night. At that moment, for the first time, I felt scared for Dad's survival. If we only had more money, he could get the medicine that could save his life.

The next morning I decided right then and there what I was going to do to help my dad. So I ran out to the racetrack as fast as I could and asked Bill France if I could race on the Nascar Winston cup circuit to help dad. At first he shrugged. When I mentioned dad, he gave me the job faster than any jackrabbit I ever saw. He said, "Tomorrow you start practicing," and showed me all around the track.

I could practiced using his secondary car. It felt like I belonged there, and with Bill as my teacher, it was great. The car was built for speed in every way, and it was so nice I almost won my first race in it. But it was a little too beefed up and on one of the turns I kept my foot on the gas a little too long. I flew up the racetrack and hit the wall on the final turn, letting the Red Byron pass me and I lost the race. I broke my right leg in the crash, so I couldn't race with just my left leg. I thought, My family is right; I shouldn't have raced. But I had so much of a lead from the third place guy, and so much momentum to get second place. I didn't win, and I didn't get enough money to save Dad. I needed to continue.

The next weekend I went to the hospital and dad is still alive, and when racing came up in my mind again, I didn't know what to do. I had two thoughts in my mind: stay and help versus go and race. I knew that if I asked my father, he would say go and race, so I did. I went down to the track. I knew I had to do something so I asked everyone if they had secondary car. Everyone said no excepted one. Buck Backer was really sick and couldn't race but he had a car to race. I asked him if I could borrow his car for the race. He gave me the keys; I was so astonished that someone would let me use their car. That car was even better than Bill France's car. This race I knew my mistake and this time I kept the car off of the wall at the last turn and won the race. I thought, Wow I did it! My family was wrong - I can race, and I will be good at it! I threw my hands in the air and listened as the crowd cheered.

I raced into Victory Lane and grabbed my big check. I took a few pictures for the newspaper and a magazine. I then raced away from the press and back to the hospital. As I ran in, I was saying to my self, “Please still be here, please still be here, please please still be here.” And on the bed there was dad still hanging on. I let out a big sigh of relief. Everyone was so excited I was back to help. I pulled out the huge check and everybody almost fainted they were so excited to see a gigantic check for $10,000 dollars. I had saved Dad the check payed for the surgery and still had enough money left over to buy my own car to race in.

My Dad is as great as ever, even though he is still sore from the surgery. He is teaching me how to race well. I haven’t been a part of the racing action since dad’s surgery. We headed down to the racetrack and the racers were packing up for another race, and were on the road following the group of race haulers traveling all over the country from Daytona Beach, Florida to Fontana, California 38 weeks a year were on the move racing.

By ~ Matt