Kyle Luetters has numerous memories of his childhood including his dad, his 18-wheeler, and a rickety old racetrack.
I have several memories from my childhood but I don’t think any of them are as vivid as my first trip to Wallbanger Speedway just outside of Garden City, Kansas.
The large wooden stands were snow white in color with the chipping and aging that one would expect from years of exposure to the dirt and rocks flying through the air. Those trips to Wallbanger were my very first exposure to the world of racing. The sights, sounds and smells were extremely intoxicating to my seven-year-old self.
Now, before you begin to think this is an article about racing, I’m going to stop you.
I pitched this setup as a way to lead into the main point of this piece. And that point is this:
My dad shaped my passion in life and gave me the tools to chase it.
Those trips to the race track as a young lad were only made possible by a father who was interested in the loud, methanol burning machines as well. As local heroes slung mud and dirt into our faces, we Luetters men enjoyed every second of it.
I found out later on that my dad was a bit of a gear head before I was born. Somewhere around the ole homestead is a one of those photo coffee mugs. Inside is a picture of my parents standing next to a racecar dad used to wrench on.
The long and short of it is this; the seeds of my passion were planted well before I came along. Within a few years of my first trip to Wallbanger, the venerable speedway closed and a new track took its place near the airport. Dad and I took in several shows there, as it was usually my payment for a Saturday filled with working on his 18-wheeler. Dad was (and still is) a trucker with immense pride in his work and the look of his rig.
While most kiddos were spending the sixth day of the week at the bowling alley or go-kart track, I was scrubbing a Peterbilt and trailer from tip to tail.
When repairs were needed, it was usually the tag team of father and son, not the local mechanic shop, turning the wrenches. We had our fair share of arguments, no doubt.
Throughout those years, I couldn’t comprehend what my Dad was trying to teach me by making me spend all of that time covered in grease and soap.
It was only after years of this toiling away that the reason(s) became clear: He was trying to teach me how to survive in a world that was/is ever changing from the one he grew up in.
Lessons in ethics, integrity, work ethic, character and leadership were commonplace.
My Dad was teaching me to be a better man.
Only I didn’t know it.
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Making sure bolts were checked and re-checked taught the importance of detail in ones work. Finding creative solutions at the local hardware store showed me how to think outside the box and to do so on a budget. Handling customers with dignity and class was a Graduate course in interpersonal communications. Time management was illustrated by the breaking down of priority lists and scheduling of what could be completed before the rig had to roll again. There were many more examples. Tons more. It seemed I was being taught something every time I turned around.
These lessons taught to me were crucial as I entered high school, college and the professional world. Dad believed in me enough to buy me my first video camera at 16 and encouraged my video making interest. He was there to encourage the selection of college and all of the projects that ensued. I do remember him being particularly proud the day my class documentary premiered in Lawton, Oklahoma in 2009. Truth be told, the old man’s lessons helped me keep my sanity on that project (barely.)
As I accepted my first professional racing job, Dad was there again for encouragement. It was something pretty special to call in and report that I had fulfilled a lifelong passion. Though we were on the phone, I could tell he was grinning.
The last three years have been turbulent to say the least. Between moves, job changes and the like, my Dad is still a rock to count on. He’s always ready with life advice, a listening ear and words of encouragement. With more choices ahead of me, the message from father to son has been clear: Don’t waste what you have been given. Attack it and attack the world. Never settle for anything less than your absolute best.
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As I mentor a young man myself these days, I look back on the lessons imparted to me from Dad. I try to model what he did when it comes to teaching to Ray, my little brother. Sure, I won’t get it all right. Neither did Dad, though.
But he cared enough to try, enough to encourage and enough to empower.
Because of what my Dad taught me, I am known as one of the best at what I do, I keep my word, I am financially secure and am someone others can depend on.
I am lucky to have this all as I chase my goals. There are numerous ones out there, but they can all be traced through a network of roots that began with a kid, his dad and a rickety old racetrack.
Photo: Randy Heinitz/flickr
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Excellent story! It pays homage to a good dad who taught his son to do good things and pay it forward. We need more people like that in this world.