“Son, Don't Forget to Kiss Your Race Car Goodnight”

February 8th, 2010 | By Crankdatdu1

I don't think I can remember a day when my dad hasn't been in my ear about something. He's always been advising me on my next move -- in life and on the race track.

I think by now everyone has heard the story that when I was born, my dad was quite the proud papa. According to the story I've been told, he announced right then and there in the delivery room that, "We have ourselves a race car driver." I guess I was destined to be in NASCAR.

My dad, Greg Newman, had wanted to be a race car driver, but things didn't work out for him. so I guess having a son was the next best thing. Don't get me wrong -- Dad didn't push me into racing or make me do it. In fact, there was a time when I was about 10 years old that he started worrying about just that. He was afraid that driving a car wasn't my dream -- that it was his. so he took the racing away from me. I wasn't very happy with that decision, and I made it known. It wasn't long before Dad realized that racing was my passion.

But like I said, my dad was pretty excited to have a son that he could share his love of racing with. When I was 4½ years old, Dad bought me my first Quarter Midget and that's really where it started for us.

Back then, Dad coached me. He taught me how to drive it, and where to hit my mark in the corner of each turn. He would stick his foot out in the path of the race car, and then tell me to literally hit his foot. By repeating this time and again, Dad believed that I would be faster and sharper on the race track.

Dad worked really long hours at his auto body repair business to make money so that I could race each weekend. When he wasn't at the body shop working, he was with me at home in our garage, tinkering on the cars, getting them just right for the upcoming weekend's race. I can remember that every night before he turned off the lights in the garage, Dad would tell me: "Don't forget to kiss your race car good night."

I didn't really kiss my race car good night, although Dad will tell you I did. It was more of a figure of speech -- a lesson that my dad was trying to teach me from a very early age. He was trying to teach me that if I show respect, it is returned. He wanted me to show appreciation and respect for my race car and for all the hard work that we and countless others had put into our dream.

You see, it was a dream that my whole family made sacrifices to help me achieve. My dad, my mom, my sister gave up a lot of things -- time-wise and money-wise -- so that I could race. every weekend, the four of us would pack up and go to the race track. On the way, I would have to get all my homework done in the car because if the school work wasn't done, I wasn't racing.

Once we got to the track, though, the whole family pitched in. It was a team effort to get me on the track, and we had fun.

My dad has been with me every step of the way. from quarter midgets to full-size midgets to sprint cars and, now, stock cars, Dad has been my mechanic, crew chief, pit crew member and spotter. Believe me when I tell you that it hasn't always been smiling faces and high-fives. We've had our share of fights. We've given each other the silent treatment. In fact, there was even a time when I took the radio away from him because I didn't want him to talk to me during the race.

But now, I really rely on hearing that familiar voice each lap and every weekend of the NASCAR Sprint Cup Series season. Dad's been my spotter in the NASCAR Sprint Cup Series since 2006. He understands what I want to hear, and he probably knows my driving style better than I do.

We still have our moments on the radio where it's a little tense, but in the end it is worth it. We are living out our dream together. I don't think there are very many fathers and sons who can say that.

For us, there was no better moment than winning the 50th running of the Daytona 500 in 2008. When I was a kid, Dad and I had come to Daytona and sat in the grandstands. We had snuck into the garage to meet the drivers. We had talked about how one day I wanted to race at Daytona.

That evening in February 2008, I knew I had gotten a good push. I knew I was the leader coming out of Turn 4 and heading to the checkered flag. I knew I was going to win the race. but hearing my dad's voice -- hearing him call me to the checkered flag -- is something I will never forget. I could hear the excitement. I could hear him get choked up. I could hear his teardrops falling on the radio microphone. And when he got to Victory Lane, he about knocked me over, he gave me such a big hug.

That moment is why he had told me to kiss the race car goodnight so many times. That was our dream, come true.