There are years one anticipates. Years that are supposed to hold something special. Something planned or the hope of something magical. For me, 2003 was supposed to be one of those years. I would be turning 13 and I couldn't be more excited to be a teenager. My life was also looking up post 9/11. Soccer was doing wonders for my life, my friend group was expanding, NASCAR was taking over my world, and little by little I was beginning to find out who I was.
Speaking of NASCAR, my love for the sport played a role in an amazing surprise. Everyone in our town received this free newspaper called the Merchandiser. It wasn't actually a newspaper, but a newspaper-like item loaded with nothing but ads, hence the name. Every year the Merchandiser held a contest to pick the winner of NASCAR's biggest race, the Daytona 500. There were only 43 drivers that qualified for this race so you had a 1-43 shot. But, since it was a contest, many people entered and picked similar drivers. To determine the tie-breaker, you had to pick the speed the driver would be going as they crossed the finish line. The prize a $150 gift certificate to one of the sponsor's stores (winner's choice). Being someone who both loved NASCAR and contests, I was definitely entering it. So which driver did I pick? The weeks leading up to the race contained a number of special race events. The Bud Shootout, The Gatorade 125s. The Busch series race at Daytona. Guess who won them all? Dale Earnhardt Jr. The driver who lost his legendary dad in a last lap wreck at Daytona two years prior. Common sense would say not to bet against him. But my 12-year old self didn't believe in the sweep. So I picked his teammate and 2001 Daytona 500 winner Michael Waltrip. I didn't have any knowledge on what was a good speed to pick and did not have internet to look up average finishing speeds. So I figured 168mph was a good number. In reality, that speed is a bit on the slow side as the cars go around 200mph at Daytona and can hit that speed across most of the track.
Race day came and I was glued to the TV. Dale Jr ran well most of the race and even led 22 laps. Waltrip ran well too, but it seemed Dale Jr was going to take the checkers. I thought I had blown it. Then, in a moment, a large crash happened, collecting Dale Jr in the process. No one was significantly hurt, but Dale Jr's chances of winning were gone. Rain was threatening all day and eventually moved into the area. Just over a hundred laps in and now at the halfway point, Michael Waltrip was leading and had led the majority of the laps to this point. Then around lap 104, the heavens opened and rain came falling. NASCAR officials put the race under caution and ran a handful of laps before realizing the rain wasn't going anywhere. Since the race had passed the halfway point, it was official. They called the race under caution and declare Michael Waltrip the winner. I was ecstatic, but instantly realized the race had ended under caution so the drivers were going between 35mph and 45mph. I could only wonder how many people picked Waltrip to win and thought for sure someone possibly picked a better tie-breaker speed than I did.
Days later I had forgotten about the competition. I was eating lunch in our kitchen between home school classes when the landline rang. My mom answered the phone. "Hello Watkins", she said. Pause. "Yes." She looked at me with a funny look. "One second", she said. "It's for you." I had no idea who it was because I rarely got calls. "Hello?" I said. The lady on the other end introduced herself as someone from the Merchandiser. "I'm calling to tell you that you've won our NASCAR Pick the Winner of the Daytona 500 contest." I was stunned. I had been entering contests for years and I finally won something. She told me that I'd be receiving my prize in the mail. The sponsor I had chosen what a local sports apparel store called Instant Sports Replay. I'd never been in there, but knowing they had NASCAR stuff as well as NFL, NBA, and MLB merchandise, I knew that's where I wanted to go.
A few days later, my parents took me and my siblings to ISR. My eyes grew huge with all the things I saw. Shirts, blankets, helmets, popcorn bins, pillows, jackets, and so much more all plastered in professional sports teams colors. A lot of things were pricy, so I had to choose wisely. After checking out the entire store, I ended up getting a Philadelphia Eagles throw blanket, a Denver Broncos body pillow (I liked the logo), a Philadelphia Eagles ballcap, and a Jeff Gordon shirt. I also gave some of the money to each of my siblings for them to pick out something. When I brought all those items home, I couldn't stop staring at them or using them. I had never had that many new and slightly expensive things before at one time that I could call my own. I took pretty good care of them as best I could. The Jeff Gordon shirt eventually wore out an is long gone. I wore that Eagles cap for a solid 7 years before I outgrew it. Now it rides on the back head rest of my car. The body pillow and blanket reside of my bed to this day, although the body pillow is near it's end of life. The blanket is still in excellent shape. They've survived 20 years and I'm still amazed.
As Winter's dull gloom melted into Spring, soccer season had returned. Very few of my teammates remained from the previous season as many new faces joined the squad. Our shirts were red this year and at the first practice, we picked a team name. A bunch of kids thought it would be cool to be called the Red Devils. Coach saw no issue with that and so that what our team was called...until it wasn't. Some parents were not too pleased and kindly asked the coach to rename the team. Coach broke the news to us and although there were a few groans, we managed to come up with something less hell-bound. The new name was the Red Rockets. That name became very ironic to me and I'll explain a bit later.
One of the kids who joined another squad (due to a different practice night) was Eddie. I wasn't happy he was on a different team, but it sure was fun to play against him. In a game against his team, we played each other hard. So much so, that at one point, our feet became tangled and he went down. I stopped to give him a hand and help him up. I apologized and he had the biggest grin I had witnessed in a long time. He said something along the lines of "It's okay my friend, no worries." If there were more people like Eddie in this world, it would be a much better place.
I also need to make mention of another young lad who did join our squad. His name was Craagen (kraw-ghen). He loved mainly two things. Cars and British accents. When conversing with him he'd switch between his normal American accent and the British one he'd been trying to perfect. He was a bit of a strange fellow and yet we became good friends.
Back to the reason why Red Rockets was ironic. That Christmas, my Uncle Bob and Aunt Cecilia sent me a model rocket kit. I had never had one before but was immediately interested. Having never built one I enlisted the help of Uncle Randy since he had built a bunch in his day. After an hour or so, we had a completed red, white, and blue, patriotic, ready-to-fly model rocket. But in order for it to take off, we needed to purchase one use engines from the store. So we did and one fine Saturday after finishing our soccer game, My Dad, myself, Dave, Uncle Randy, and a few of my siblings went to an open field at the school to launch rockets. It was cool inserting the engine and connecting the rocket to the launch pad. We did count-downs and even shouted blast-off! Pushing the launch button and watching that little rocket shoot thousands of feet into the air was the highlight of my weekend. Even the parachute deploying and returning the rocket safely to earth was awesome.
As we burned though our engines, we decided to do one more launch for both mine and Dave's rockets. And that's where double disaster struck. Dave went first and launched his rocket. instead of going up and out at an angle, a large gust of wind blew it up and then backwards. Both my dad and uncle shouted "uh-oh" and ran towards its wayward path hoping to warn any unsuspecting civilians nearby. That danger never became a reality because the rocket ended up crash-landing on the school roof. They tried to see if it blew off but nope...it was gone. Thinking lighting couldn't strike the same place twice, we still launched mine. As we did, the rocket took off, but with a smaller smoke trail than normal. Then the trail suddenly stopped, then started, and for some reason, spiraled away from the rocket. When the rocket landed, I went to retrieve it. The engine was gone. As was the tail cap that held it in place. I searched the area but could not find it. I knew what had happened. After I put the engine in, I knew it wasn't in properly because the tail cap did not click into place. I didn't want to have to pull everything out and reset it so I figured it was fine. My uncle and dad were unaware because I didn't tell them. My stupidity caused me to lose a crucial piece of that rocket and because of that (and the cost of rocket engines) that rocket never flew again. It was an incredible experience and a memorable day, but the joy was short lived.
By late spring, my third soccer season came to a close. We had an awards picnic where everyone received a nice little trophy as we did in season's past. I went to Jordan's after where we celebrated another great season and the fact that summer was approaching and we would soon be free from the chains of the school year. I was anticipating an amazing summer...
...that is until one fateful night in late May. It was a warm evening. The sun was just beginning to set and I was outside racing around on my Huffy bike. Then my dad called all of kids in the house for a family meeting. I had grown accustom to these because in the past couple of years we had a few of them all of which were related to my dad's job. What I didn't mention in previous chapters was that job my dad held for a long time was closing due to the owner retiring. The next job he found after that was located in Maryland, which may have seemed far, but we were close enough to the state boarders that the drive wasn't super long. After about a year of working there, he got offered a position with a local mechanic who he frequently took the family cars to when they needed work. All of those were the basis of the previous family meetings. And as much as I wasn't a fan of them (as they usually took me away from whatever fun I was having), I was never worried when they were called. But for some strange reason I can't explain, as I made my way towards the house that night, I had a gut feeling that this one was going to be bad...really bad.
We all assembled in the living room and my stomach was in knots. My dad began explaining about the trips they had made to Toledo, OH in the past for church conferences and how during one of those times he had been approached by an elder who was putting on 10-month bible training in Cleveland, OH in late 2003. The elder had asked my dad to be part of it. As my dad continued speaking, I knew what was coming. My body was shaking, waiting for him to say the words. Finally they came "We're moving." And then I completely lost it.
