Dale Earnhardt is looking down at me, his arms crossed. He wears a slight smirk beneath his iconic mustache, my father wears one just the same. Dale’s sunglasses are gleaming with the checker flag. He moves with my daddy’s back the creases of the black shirt he is printed on.
My Daddy stands upright on both his feet equally weighted about shoulder width apart. “Come here, I’ve got to show you something,” his thick, grease imbued hand waving me over, welcoming me to stand at his side and look down into the front of the hood he is standing over. Flash light in hand, he points his light to another piece of machinery in front of me, “this baby, now listen because you will need to know someday.” He says this before telling me how anything works.
He whipped his hand on a red shop rag, already spotted with grease. He smells the way he always smells, he’s been wearing the same cologne as long as I can remember paired with the heavy smell of cigarettes, motor oil, and the OrangeOff used to clean it. He smiles at me, the tips of his mustache lifting at each corner, revealing his lips a bit more as they stretch across his teeth, opening wide I can see his bottom teeth too. His cheeks jolly and pink as you might think of Santa Claus. He’s laughing at the joke he just made. He knows about the world, I can see it in the waves of his dark brown shinning hair and the way he wear’s his washed out Levi work jeans. There are many things I have not seen but I know about them somehow in his deep blue eyes.
My Daddy stands upright on both his feet equally weighted about shoulder width apart. “Come here, I’ve got to show you something,” his thick, grease imbued hand waving me over, welcoming me to stand at his side and look down into the front of the hood he is standing over. Flash light in hand, he points his light to another piece of machinery in front of me, “this baby, now listen because you will need to know someday.” He says this before telling me how anything works.
He whipped his hand on a red shop rag, already spotted with grease. He smells the way he always smells, he’s been wearing the same cologne as long as I can remember paired with the heavy smell of cigarettes, motor oil, and the OrangeOff used to clean it. He smiles at me, the tips of his mustache lifting at each corner, revealing his lips a bit more as they stretch across his teeth, opening wide I can see his bottom teeth too. His cheeks jolly and pink as you might think of Santa Claus. He’s laughing at the joke he just made. He knows about the world, I can see it in the waves of his dark brown shinning hair and the way he wear’s his washed out Levi work jeans. There are many things I have not seen but I know about them somehow in his deep blue eyes.
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