Back when I was 14 years old, I was obsessed with motocross. Whenever there was a race within range of Albany, I’d beg my dear old dad to shuttle me out so I could be there on the track. The competition was tough. I was up against these kids who had basically been racing since they were in diapers, with professional coaches and rich helicopter parents. Nonetheless, the thrill of flying across the dirt and kicking up dust as I took a sharp corner never got old. On occasion, my pleas would work.
often visit my aunt and uncle out in Aiken, South Carolina, or they’d visit us in Albany. But when my parents got divorced, and then when my father passed, Thanksgiving got a little more complicated, and many of us fell out of touch to some degree. Everybody moved away, and we were scattered across the country.
“One year, I somehow managed to drag my dad down to Gainesville, Florida, for a big race, on Thanksgiving Day of all days."