When I was asked to write about living with a famous Dad, I wasn't sure exactly what to say. You see my Dad is famous to a lot of people, but to us he is just another family member doing his part.
We were lucky because we probably had the most normal childhood of any of the racing children. We went to a good Catholic school in a carpool with cousins and had a great time. Even though we didn't see much of our parents in the fall and winter, we were able to travel to new and exciting places in the summer. Sometimes we flew in Dad's plane and sometimes we rode in Mom's motor home.
We left right after school and went from Hueytown to Texas, from Texas to California, from California to the Pocono's, from the Pocono's to Michigan. We got home from Michigan, had a few days to rest, and then it was off to Daytona. I remember how neat it was to go back to school and tell stories of our trips over the summer to Disneyland and Knots Berry Farm in California, the Grand Canyon, and Daytona Beach.
Not only was the travel exciting but we enjoyed the different places, meeting new people, making new friends along the way, and giggling at the people who interrupted our dinner for an autograph from this man at our table. We did not fully realize the impact he had on so many people.
I remember staying at little race tracks across the country until 2:00 a.m. and starving to death (or so I thought) waiting for Dad to sign autographs. We would fall asleep in the truck or the car before he finished, but he wouldn't leave until the last fan got an autograph.