Doomed from the Start: Development of a Petrolhead

I was doomed from the start. My first word was 'Tractor'. Wheeled things fascinated me. I don't remember much about that time, but have been told by numerous relations that I uttered that word after someone (perhaps Dad) had taken us to a tractor pull on the fairgrounds in Washington State. The noise and the flying bits of soil must have made some sort of impression because only later in life did I learn that normal kids spit out 'mama' or 'dada' as first words. I even had one up on kids who managed to get the word 'car' out in some form or other. Not that I was smart, advanced or anything near it, I just knew that I liked machines with wheels. It was certainly an auspicious beginning to a life lived in hopeless devotion to the automobile. Simply put, I am a car guy. A default name given to someone who lives, sleeps, eats and breathes cars. We are born into a state of being naturally predisposed to the love of mechanical objects. Seen as a sickness by many who do not fully understand us, this fanaticism causes those of us so afflicted to become drivers, writers, designers, mechanics and engineers. Some of the more oppressed of our kind are encouraged to find gainful employment in the industries of finance and law but in the end our true nature reigns. Squirreled away within garages around the world are two and four-wheeled mistresses that briefly bring their owners to life for a weekend at a time and back again on Monday where neckties and spreadsheets rule. There are those like myself who from the beginning made our course in life and obvious one.