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Well, passion is wonderful but that sweet kid in the picture is gonna’ grow up wishing pop had been a plumber or used care salesman.

I’ve been in more motorcycle crashes than I can count (literally). I’ve leaped out of perfectly functional air craft and even have a nice skydiving accident story that I can tell anyone who indicates an interest.

But when a man brings a son into the world he has a responsibility to be there to teach the boy to be a man. If he must die for his passion it ought to be a passion WORTH his life and the loss to his family. The passion of standing up for truth. Standing against evil. Doing right by your brothers and sisters. Doing good for your world.

I’d understand if pop caught it on some Iwo Jima somewhere but as a son I think I’d resent it deeply that he died in middle age trying to win a contest involving boys toys.

I can understand the lure of big horsepower and a loud, violent contest in controlling them and prevailing above the field, but when they put my son in my arms in that delivery room almost all of the boyish, adolescent selfishness that had been my life went right out the window.

The very idea of some other guy teaching and guiding my son and explaining the world to him absolutely repels me.