I can hear the race cars tonight at Spartan Speedway. The track sits out in the country between Holt and Mason and for all of my life, I've been able to hear the roar of the cars every Friday night during the summer. When I was younger they sounded like the roar of dinosaurs or a fierce battle just out of sight. When I got older, I understood what the noise was coming through my windows and the sound was familiar. It meant I was home, and things were normal. Tonight, as an adult, the roar of the cars sound like memories.
My uncle was a huge fan of races and he was a staple at Spartan Speedway. To me, the two have always been tied together, my uncle and races at Spartan Speedway. I was lucky enough to be able to go to the races with him a couple of times, sitting on little foam seats and desperately pressing my hands against ears that were assaulted by noise despite the ear plugs I wore. To be honest, I was bored. Oh, I enjoyed seeing all the people, and getting concession stand food and I enjoyed getting to spend one-on-one time with my uncle...but racing just don't interest me all that much. The fond memories I have of the races have nothing to do with cars and everything to do with the people.
Earlier this year, my uncle passed away. He had been sick for a long time, sick enough that he hadn't been able to go to the races and sit in the stands. Before he was hospitalized he had made it out to the track whenever he could...even being driven in his car right up to the wall so he could sit in his car with his oxygen tank and still see the races. The races were important to him and he was important to me. Tonight I can hear the roar of the cars and the sound is a memory. A happy reminder of a loved one lost.
