Racing has been part of my life for as long as I can remember.

My dad raced when I was growing up, and the dragstrip was basically home. Every Friday through Sunday, that’s where we were. I wasn’t the kid running wild through the pits—I was the one helping in the burnout box, spraying the radiator down between rounds to keep things cool, washing the car, and getting everything ready on Friday afternoons after school. I helped change engines and transmissions, even if most of the time that meant handing over tools or holding the light—the dreaded but necessary job.

As my dad got older, he eventually stepped away and sold everything off. But racing never really left us. We still went to watch drag races, late models, and sprint cars whenever we could.

In my 30s, I decided it was time to get back into it. This time, my daughter became my sidekick and pit crew. Before long, she was old enough to start running junior dragsters at just six years old. And as you can see in the photos, we even picked up motocross as a winter sport to keep the racing going year-round.

Many years—and a few cars—later, we’re still doing it together. I even got my oldest daughter involved, starting out in a stick-shift Mustang before moving into a mild little Malibu.

These sports have built a bond that goes far beyond the track. They’ve given us time together that I can never get back—and time I wouldn’t trade for the world.