A Tribute to his Father, Dale Earnhardt.
By Dale Earnhardt Jr.
The following column originally was published Oct. 18, 2000.
I know a man whose hands are so callused that gloves aren't necessary. Once, while cutting down a tree, he cut the back of his hand to the bone with a chainsaw. He didn't even stop to look until the job was done.
I've seen him get thrown from a tractor. The tractor, as large as a small home, was flipped by the trunk of a stubborn oak tree. His first thought was not fear, but how quickly he could get the tractor back on its tracks to complete the task. He has suffered broken bones and never had one complaint. Not to anyone, not even to himself.
This man could lead the world's finest army. He has wisdom that knows no bounds. No fire could burn his character, no stone could break it. He maintains a private existence. One that shelters his most coveted thoughts from the world.
His upbringing was no controlled creation. His hard-working family was like many from that era. He gained his knowledge in hard dirt and second-hand tools, from his toys as a child to the trucks he drove in his 20s. From that natural upbringing, he has an incredible sense of good and bad. He sees it before it sees him, in people, in anything imaginable. Where did he learn this? How does he know so many things?
I've seen this man create many things. With no blueprints, he has carved and produced wonders upon wonders. His resume shows he has created major companies. He has hammered out deal upon deal -- always being as fair as God would have it. He has taken land with thick shrub and deep valleys and molded them into a frontier fit for heaven. He has built homes that kings couldn't fathom.
Solving problems is as easy as breathing for him. They are thrown his way like the morning paper. People surround him daily, wanting solutions. He hands them out with pride and passion. Each solution is a battle won. He calculates his every action, demanding the same from everyone else. He is honest in letting you know your end of the bargain.
His friendship is the greatest gift you could ever obtain. Out of all his attributes, it is the most impressive. He trusts only a few with this gift. If you ever break that trust - it is over. He accepts few apologies. Many have crossed him and they leave with only regret for their actions. In every result, he stands as an example of what hard work and dedication will achieve. Even his enemies know this.
I have had the pleasure of joining him on the battlefield. I have experienced his intimidating wrath. That may sound strong, but I know what I am talking about. He roams like a lion, king of his jungle. His jungle is his and his alone. Every step he takes has purpose. Every walk has reason.
He praises God, loves his family, enjoys his friends.
I wonder what his future holds. He has so much to be proud of. To this point, he's only barely satisfied. His eyes see much more than my imagination could produce. He is Dale Earnhardt. Dad, the world's finest army awaits.
From Dale Jr's Diary:
Memories of Dad
By Dale Earnhardt Jr.
March 20, 2001
It's time again for my monthly column. I thought I would share with you a few of my favorite memories I have of my father. Since his death, these are the memories that help me through the hard times.
Learning How to Ski:
At 6 years old, I float in the murky water of Lake Norman with one ski on each foot.
Each ski seems to weigh 100 pounds, each tight like a glove to my feet. My father holds me upright as I hang onto the ski rope, which is tied to the hitch of a pickup parked on the boat ramp about 20 yards away.
This makeshift learning tool seems crude, but I felt perfectly safe with my father's idea.
Once my father gave the signal, the driver of the truck would floor the gas, pulling me out of the water and up on my skis. This probably wasn't common practice around the lake for most beginners, but at such a young age, I couldn't pass it up to prove my bravery.
After about six attempts I had it down flat -- literally. On the last attempt I was dragged up on the boat ramp, leaving me with quite a strawberry on the backside. I have this in its entirety on film somewhere. When I take my son to the lake for skiing, I will be driving the truck.
Snow, Trucks, and More Snow:
About that same age, I got the chance to do some real male bonding with my father and his friends.
Sometime that winter, I was invited to ride along with the guys in their 4x4 pickup in the dead of night. The ground was covered in snow -- the roads had not been cleared.
This was a man's road trip. Having a 7-year-old along usually meant less fun and hell raisin' for the fellas.
I took this in mind and jumped in the middle of the bench seat and kept my mouth shut. If my memory serves me correct, my father's co-pilot this night was NASCAR's own Gary Nelson.
What a sight it was to see some 20 pickups fishtailing down the windy back roads of Mooresville. I can only imagine since I couldn't see over the dash just yet.
Most of what I remember about that night is just being with my father. Although it seemed as the truck was out of control, he knew exactly what he was doing. I never experienced that same feeling again until joining him on the racetrack in Japan for our first race together.
Get Your Head On Straight:
While practicing for one of my first Busch Series races at Charlotte, I lost control and ended our weekend early.
A few friends and I went directly back to my doublewide trailer and sat in disbelief as to what had happened.
As I sat pondering the future of my racing career, the back door flung open, and in walked what seemed to be a 10-foot-tall tall Dale Earnhardt.
The look on his face wasn't pleasant. As my buddies scrambled to get out the front door he asked me to join him on the back porch.
We spent more than an hour talking about his perils in the early days of his career and how I should be looking forward to my next opportunity to race.
In that conversation somewhere, I was assured of his love for me, and the hope he maintained for me to be successful in whatever I did. From that day on, I never worried about my mistakes, only looking forward to the chance to redeem them.
Our Final Stance:
My father joined me in victory lane for many of my wins in the Busch and Winston Cup Series.
The one that stands out most clearly is the win in Charlotte at The Winston. My first Busch win and my first Cup win were enjoyable with him as well, but The Winston had a different feel while standing there with him on stage with the trophy.
The best race I saw him run was at that same event in 1987. For some reason, I felt I had equaled that performance. As if to say "look dad, the same race, the same excitement, the same result!"
I could see in his face that night he agreed. Of all the time I have spent with my father, this moment is the most valuable to me. I will never forget his smile, his expression, or anything else about those moments with him on that stage that night.
My dad and I, with that elusive Winston trophy there in front of us. It belonged to him as much as it did me that night.
By Dale Earnhardt Jr.
The following column originally was published Oct. 18, 2000.
I know a man whose hands are so callused that gloves aren't necessary. Once, while cutting down a tree, he cut the back of his hand to the bone with a chainsaw. He didn't even stop to look until the job was done.
I've seen him get thrown from a tractor. The tractor, as large as a small home, was flipped by the trunk of a stubborn oak tree. His first thought was not fear, but how quickly he could get the tractor back on its tracks to complete the task. He has suffered broken bones and never had one complaint. Not to anyone, not even to himself.
This man could lead the world's finest army. He has wisdom that knows no bounds. No fire could burn his character, no stone could break it. He maintains a private existence. One that shelters his most coveted thoughts from the world.
His upbringing was no controlled creation. His hard-working family was like many from that era. He gained his knowledge in hard dirt and second-hand tools, from his toys as a child to the trucks he drove in his 20s. From that natural upbringing, he has an incredible sense of good and bad. He sees it before it sees him, in people, in anything imaginable. Where did he learn this? How does he know so many things?
I've seen this man create many things. With no blueprints, he has carved and produced wonders upon wonders. His resume shows he has created major companies. He has hammered out deal upon deal -- always being as fair as God would have it. He has taken land with thick shrub and deep valleys and molded them into a frontier fit for heaven. He has built homes that kings couldn't fathom.
Solving problems is as easy as breathing for him. They are thrown his way like the morning paper. People surround him daily, wanting solutions. He hands them out with pride and passion. Each solution is a battle won. He calculates his every action, demanding the same from everyone else. He is honest in letting you know your end of the bargain.
His friendship is the greatest gift you could ever obtain. Out of all his attributes, it is the most impressive. He trusts only a few with this gift. If you ever break that trust - it is over. He accepts few apologies. Many have crossed him and they leave with only regret for their actions. In every result, he stands as an example of what hard work and dedication will achieve. Even his enemies know this.
I have had the pleasure of joining him on the battlefield. I have experienced his intimidating wrath. That may sound strong, but I know what I am talking about. He roams like a lion, king of his jungle. His jungle is his and his alone. Every step he takes has purpose. Every walk has reason.
He praises God, loves his family, enjoys his friends.
I wonder what his future holds. He has so much to be proud of. To this point, he's only barely satisfied. His eyes see much more than my imagination could produce. He is Dale Earnhardt. Dad, the world's finest army awaits.
From Dale Jr's Diary:
Memories of Dad
By Dale Earnhardt Jr.
March 20, 2001
It's time again for my monthly column. I thought I would share with you a few of my favorite memories I have of my father. Since his death, these are the memories that help me through the hard times.
Learning How to Ski:
At 6 years old, I float in the murky water of Lake Norman with one ski on each foot.
Each ski seems to weigh 100 pounds, each tight like a glove to my feet. My father holds me upright as I hang onto the ski rope, which is tied to the hitch of a pickup parked on the boat ramp about 20 yards away.
This makeshift learning tool seems crude, but I felt perfectly safe with my father's idea.
Once my father gave the signal, the driver of the truck would floor the gas, pulling me out of the water and up on my skis. This probably wasn't common practice around the lake for most beginners, but at such a young age, I couldn't pass it up to prove my bravery.
After about six attempts I had it down flat -- literally. On the last attempt I was dragged up on the boat ramp, leaving me with quite a strawberry on the backside. I have this in its entirety on film somewhere. When I take my son to the lake for skiing, I will be driving the truck.
Snow, Trucks, and More Snow:
About that same age, I got the chance to do some real male bonding with my father and his friends.
Sometime that winter, I was invited to ride along with the guys in their 4x4 pickup in the dead of night. The ground was covered in snow -- the roads had not been cleared.
This was a man's road trip. Having a 7-year-old along usually meant less fun and hell raisin' for the fellas.
I took this in mind and jumped in the middle of the bench seat and kept my mouth shut. If my memory serves me correct, my father's co-pilot this night was NASCAR's own Gary Nelson.
What a sight it was to see some 20 pickups fishtailing down the windy back roads of Mooresville. I can only imagine since I couldn't see over the dash just yet.
Most of what I remember about that night is just being with my father. Although it seemed as the truck was out of control, he knew exactly what he was doing. I never experienced that same feeling again until joining him on the racetrack in Japan for our first race together.
Get Your Head On Straight:
While practicing for one of my first Busch Series races at Charlotte, I lost control and ended our weekend early.
A few friends and I went directly back to my doublewide trailer and sat in disbelief as to what had happened.
As I sat pondering the future of my racing career, the back door flung open, and in walked what seemed to be a 10-foot-tall tall Dale Earnhardt.
The look on his face wasn't pleasant. As my buddies scrambled to get out the front door he asked me to join him on the back porch.
We spent more than an hour talking about his perils in the early days of his career and how I should be looking forward to my next opportunity to race.
In that conversation somewhere, I was assured of his love for me, and the hope he maintained for me to be successful in whatever I did. From that day on, I never worried about my mistakes, only looking forward to the chance to redeem them.
Our Final Stance:
My father joined me in victory lane for many of my wins in the Busch and Winston Cup Series.
The one that stands out most clearly is the win in Charlotte at The Winston. My first Busch win and my first Cup win were enjoyable with him as well, but The Winston had a different feel while standing there with him on stage with the trophy.
The best race I saw him run was at that same event in 1987. For some reason, I felt I had equaled that performance. As if to say "look dad, the same race, the same excitement, the same result!"
I could see in his face that night he agreed. Of all the time I have spent with my father, this moment is the most valuable to me. I will never forget his smile, his expression, or anything else about those moments with him on that stage that night.
My dad and I, with that elusive Winston trophy there in front of us. It belonged to him as much as it did me that night.
This work by Jr 88 Rules is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.