Having six older brothers definitely helped, but they really aren’t into cars that much. In fact out of six boys and one girl, guess who is the one that races cars?
When I was a little girl the two toys I enjoyed playing with the most weren’t dolls and tea sets, they were horse statues and cars. I grew up loving horses which will be a different story for another time, but I also grew up loving cars. I had a few Hot Wheels and Matchboxes that I wish I still had today. I only had a few and I am assuming they were the cast offs that my brothers didn’t want. I didn’t mind though, I had my own cars to play with. I also would “borrow” my older brothers’ cars to play with at times, which would always end up with me getting shoved aside as my brothers would come and re-claim their cars. I would scream, mom would yell wanting to know what’s going on, my brother would exclaim that I was taking his stuff again and in the end we all ended up in tears and in trouble. I was planning on giving them back. I was!
I would have to say that my very favorite toy though was the combination of horses and cars. One Christmas, I received a pickup truck that was pulling a horse trailer with two horses inside. I loved it! It combined both worlds perfectly. I could unhitch the trailer from the truck, take the horses out of the trailer, haul stuff in the back of the truck – it was great! I really miss that toy now. I know I would still play with it today if I could find one like it.
My poor mother. She tried desperately to get her only girl to wear dresses and play with dolls. Fights always ensued between her and I over her wanting me to wear dresses, to act more ladylike and me wanting to be, well, myself. I can’t imagine the money that was wasted on dolls and tea set and dresses that were either never played with or would end up being a sacrifice for some experiment my brothers and I would dream up. Barbie wants to be an astronaut? Then she should be duct taped to some bottle rockets!
I wasn’t the only girl around who wanted a Barbie Corvette, but I was the only girl around who wanted it with more horsepower options, a five speed, a tow package to haul horses of course, and I did not want it in pink! I thought only sissy girls drove pink cars! Pink has never been and still isn’t my color. To say the least, I never got my Barbie Corvette. I guess my mom knew that the Ken doll would never get to drive and she didn’t want to be responsible for me learning how to be the next Evel Kneviel on four wheels.
Her distaste for me being a tomboy was a little hypocritical of her though, now that I think of it. After all, she is where I get my love of racing from! She was the fastest driver I have ever ridden with and I know my family would back me up on this. She only liked to drive the big V8’s and she had only one speed – fast! My father bought her a nice V6 smaller car once. He thought she would like it better because it was cheaper on gas, smaller and easier to maneuver, which would have made her commute to work downtown easier. After she drove it one day, she came back and threw the keys to him and said she wanted her old car back as this little thing didn’t have any power. She was horrible on gas mileage. She would floor it when the light turned green, pass other cars like she was heading for the finish at the Indy 500 and then slam on the brakes and slide to a stop when the light turned red. If the eggs survived on the way home from the store, it was a miracle.
Shirley Muldowney had nothing on my mom. I know Mom would have put her on the trailer in a heartbeat. All you would have had to do is hold up a sign at the end of the track that said “SALE” in big letters and you wouldn’t have beaten her to it.
We lost my mom to cancer when I was nine, but I am thankful for these fond memories I have. All that work at trying to get me to be more ladylike did stick and I can only hope to be half of the lady she was. So thanks, Mom for passing on your love of speed. Like a true lady, I always check how my makeup looks in the mirror before I put on my helmet to race.
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