I never thought I would find myself sitting at a dirt bike track watching races on a Saturday night – and yet, there I was last weekend, watching bikes flying into the sky, over jumps as they raced by me one by one.
My second-oldest son told me one day that he wished he would have started racing dirt bikes when he was little so he would be more competitive now. I just looked at him and said, “For sure, no.”
There was no way I was going to put Luke on anything motorized with wheels with any amount of speed; without a doubt, he would have killed himself. This was the kid who ended up in the ER more often than anyone else and, with the exception of Jake – who survived being run over by a skid steer – Luke has broken more bones and required more surgeries than any of my children.
All because of dirt bikes.
He’s is as dependable as the day is long, but this kid is a thrill-seeker. He has always pushed everything to its limits. Every toy, every piece of equipment, no matter what it was, Luke was going to see how far he could push it and stop just before it broke.
The closest I ever allowed him to race was on antique tractors, when I raced my John Deere A against his Farmall M. And of course, he won every time.
While these kinds of kids may give their parents gray hair, they are also the ones who grow up to be the entrepreneurs we need to keep capitalism alive and well. They are willing to test the limits, see how far they can go and aren’t afraid of failure. They live to compete and thrive on a challenge.
They are the ones who figure out how to make systems work better and utilize common sense to its full potential.
In a United States absent of this mentality, our western frontier would have stopped at the Mississippi, NASCAR wouldn’t be a sport and air travel wouldn’t exist. This is the kind of mentality it takes to dream big, dare to succeed and step forward with fear staring you in the face.
While I’m happy to watch my son do something he loves, I continually pray for his safety as he screams by on two wheels. No one told me when I was giving birth to boys that I was signing up for constant worry over a 25-year-old.
This gives new meaning to the old admonition: “Enjoy them now; it goes by fast!”
The views and opinions expressed in this column are those of the author and not necessarily those of Farm World. Readers with questions or comments for Melissa Hart may write to her in care of this publication.