My Dad Raised Me on NASCAR. Now I’m Raising My Son on… IndyCar?

Some of my best memories are dusty afternoons in the stands with my old man, watching Dale Jr. charge through the pack. The roar of stock cars, that smell of burnt rubber mixed with cheap hot dogs — it’s stitched into my childhood. So imagine my gut punch when my teenage son recently told me NASCAR was “kinda slow” and he liked IndyCar better. At first, it felt like a betrayal, like he’d traded our family tradition for some flashy open-wheel circus. But we made a deal: I’d take him to an Indy race. Honestly? The speed was unreal. Those machines flew by so quick it rattled your chest. Different than NASCAR’s thunder, but thrilling in its own right. Still, part of me missed the chrome horns, the door slams, the payback at Martinsville. I left that day torn — proud to share racing with my boy, but quietly longing for my own golden era. #NASCAR #IndyCar #Parenting #RacingDrama #RacingMemories