racewriter's Blog

While trying to contain my excitement long enough to do my job on Sunday at Daytona International Speedway, I ventured out to the Fan Zone to see what my friends in racing were up to.  Realizing that only a month ago I was watching testing from this same place when it was quiet and empty, I smiled as I looked around at the thousands of people that now filled the place. Everyone of them was excited beyond words for the start of the Daytona 500 to get underway.

One of the best parts of being a writer is being surprised by the things that inspire you to run and find a pen and paper.  And when it happens, it’s awesome…at least for me it is...prompting me to get it down on paper before it's lost.

Earlier in the day, I made my way through the sea of fans and noticed there was a whole herd of them all huddled in one place, cameras snapping and a strange quietness filled the air around them.   Who are they looking at I wondered. Who is demanding such reverence in amongst the thousands of rowdy, hollering fans? It certainly wasn't a driver, or I would have heard a whole lot of noise.

Always the one to try to look at things a little different than most, I patiently waited for a spot to open up and I got my first peek of what had called these folks from their paths.  On a cart was the Harley J. Earl Perpetual Trophy, making its way out for a brief display. This trophy bears the name of each Daytona 500 winner and is quite a sight to behold.  Getting close enough to view, the crowd that stood near it were taking pictures, and almost whispering when they saw the name of the driver they remembered or idolized.  I found my eyes looking for specific names as well, and felt a sense of connection when I found them. History, it permeates this place. Each one of the names on that trophy represented a lifelong dream that came true for each man. Respect for their accomplishments did deserve a bit of reverence and a pause for silence.

It was while I was moving around to get the best view of the trophy that I took a look at the whole scene.  In front of the trophy and behind it were perfectly spaced young men standing proud holding their drums…maybe college kids or a local high school. They stood stoically, much as I’m sure they had been told to do.  And they stood proud.  When given the signal to move toward the track, they all began to play a beat that everyone would recognize from school football games. 

And off they went…marching into the track, with their trophy treasure securely protected between them.

As they marched away, tears tried to form in my eyes…taking me by surprise and leaving me feeling a little foolish, but only for a minute.  I soon realized where it was coming from and that made it even harder for me to keep my act together.  Two of my own boys are very musically inclined, one can pick up any horned instrument and play it, the other can play the drums, keyboard and I’m not sure what else.  When they were in school they played in the band.  As a Mom I treasured every minute because I knew the talent was a precious gift.  As time went by they chose paths in life that didn’t include their music, a choice many kids make.

Seeing those boys stand tall as they beat their drums and escorted the trophy onto the track took me back to the days when I heard my boys play their drums and their horns.  It was a Mom moment…that’s all.  I walked away hoping all those Mom’s were there to see their kids take that trophy in, if not, it’s a memory they’ll never get back. 

I worked my way back into the crowd to head back to my post and listened as the drums faded in the distance…yep, I sure hope those Mom’s were there.