The Mentor

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Summary: Dale Jr. gets introspective, and a little jealous, as he remembers having a mentor.

AUTHOR: Catw00man
EMAIL: catw00man@cryptoffic.com
RATING: PG-13
CHARACTER: Dale Earnhardt Jr POV
CATEGORY: Angst
COMPLETED: July 10, 2004
WORD COUNT: 1,664
DISCLAIMER: I own NOTHING and am affiliated with NO ONE mentioned here. Not the drivers, not the teams, no one. This is all fiction and fun. In other words...NOT REAL, NOT REAL, NOT REAL. ;-)
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I have to say this is a piece I really wanted to get out, even though it really tried to fight me. I’m still not completely happy with it, but here it is. I came up with this idea when I read and article about how/when Jeff and Jr met, which you can find here. It’s a good read, and before you ask nope, no slash in this one.
AUTHOR'S NOTE 2: The radio conversation is paraphrased from a real conversation from Sr’s radio from I think Bristol, 2000. Sorry, I’m going on memory here, so it might not be exactly accurate. My apologies.
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After the Pepsi 400 at Daytona: July 3, 2004

I couldn’t help but watch them with a little bit of jealousy as they celebrated in victory lane. How they hugged and laughed and he patted him on the back. I remember that feeling. Knowing that you had done good, and I miss it. I miss the encouraging words, and pats on the back, and I miss him.

I’m sure he doesn’t even realize I feel this way because I know if he did he’d try to make things better. Just like he always did. But, we’re beyond all that now aren’t we?

I see them coming back from their celebration to the Hendrick haulers flanking mine. I should go inside mine, I really don’t want to talk. But, instead I stand here frozen in time as they pass by me lost to their own happiness. I call a congratulations to them both, I guess I’m just a glutton for punishment tonight.

He calls back to me how they just got lucky and he’s sure I’ll get them back next time. I banter back for a few minutes, but my heart isn’t in it. I can’t help but notice how easy they are with each other, how comfortable. Were we ever that way, or was it all in my head?

I see them walk into his hauler, probably to the lounge to meet with crew chiefs or maybe just to rehash the race. I think that may be what I miss the most. I know what he’s telling him. How great his drafting has improved, how good he ran, and some other things that no one else even sees.

I can’t help but sigh as I wander into the rapidly emptying garage. It’s easy to get lost in the mix of cars being loaded up and stalls being cleaned out. It’s a good time to be alone and think, which is what I seem to be doing tonight.

I can’t help but remember the first night we met, back in ‘92 or something. I was just a kid barely getting into late model cars when Dad took me with him to a BUSCH race. We were standing by Dad’s car waiting for him to qualify when he walked by on the way to his own ride. That’s when Dad grabbed him by the arm, in that way he always did, and told him he had to meet me. I figured he’d be annoyed at meeting some kid when he should be preparing to qualify, but he wasn’t. Instead he put me right at ease.

He really has a way with that you know? Making anyone feel like they can talk to him. I know he did that night. I don’t think we actually talked for more than a few minutes, but he told me if I ever wanted to talk he’d be around. I really didn’t take him seriously then, thought he was just being nice in front of Dad. It was obvious he was on his way to a Cup ride, why would he want to be sidetracked by a kid like me. But I came to find out he really did mean every word.

He would always come over and talk to me if we were ever at the same track. I never understood how he could make the time for that, but he did. I think when I really realized what a great guy he is was one night at a little short track when I was running one of my piece of junk street stocks. I’m really not even sure why he was there that night.

But after the race there he was in the pits. He had watched the whole race. I don’t remember where I finished that night. I know it wasn’t good. But that’s not what he saw. We sat on the pit-road wall that night talking until long after everything had been packed away and the road was cleared. He saw things in me I had never even guessed, and the way he talks about racing...so passionate and animated. I would always tease him about talking with his hands, not that it bothered him. I don’t think much bothers him.

But that night, for some reason, he put his arm around me, like he did Jimmie’s tonight, and told me how talented I was. He showed me different ways to look at racing, and he never left out a detail. I can’t even begin to count how many times he’s helped me out and made me a better driver.

“Hey Junior, what’s going on tonight? You partying man?” I hear someone say. I turn to see a few of my crew members ready to party, or more like ready to drink my free beer Bud always stocks my coolers with. “I don’t think so guys, you go on without me,” I reply. They both shrug their shoulders and look a bit annoyed as they walk away. Too bad, I guess they need to find their own beer tonight I think as I smile and turn to make my way to my motor coach before anyone else decides to invite me out.

The walk is a short one, and I can’t help but glance over at Jimmie’s coach as I climb in my own. The lights are on. They must have moved the celebration there. I bet they’ll be up half the night talking racing, joking, laughing and watching anything with wheels on TV. I shake my head as I realize how pathetic and jealous that sounds as I close the door to my coachman.

Beer is always easy to come by here, so I grab a Bud and drop down in my favorite chair. I flip on the TV to the Speed channel and crack open my beer. Looks like they’re recapping the race, oh joy. And there he is, going on about how well his boy did tonight. Saying he’ll be pushing Jimmie next time...please. Why should he.... “Oh shut the hell up Junior,” I mumble to myself as I sip my beer.

I shouldn’t be so jealous of him. I mean I’m Dale Earnhardt Jr. for God’s sake! Son of a legend. Admired and put on a pedestal by millions. So, why do I feel so alone? Doesn’t he realize that I might still need him? “Ah, shit,” I whisper as I close my eyes and lean my head back against the recliner. I rub my temples with my free hand and think about finding some aspirin somewhere in the kitchen. When is the last time I’ve felt so pathetic?

Ah, I remember a time. Rookie year. Darlington. Bristol. Dad on the radio telling the crew, “Is that the boy again? Tell him to park the car...that’s not gonna be a problem Dale...” I don’t think he ever knew I heard that conversation. I never brought it up. He really hated when I destroyed race cars. Oh, I know he was still behind me, he’da taken me out of the car if he didn’t believe in me. But it’s hard to get advice from someone who’s disappointed in you.

I remember wandering around the garage after Bristol, after tearing up two cars in two weeks. Much like I did tonight. That’s when he found me. Asked if I wanted to talk, and I followed him to his motor coach. We talked for hours. He helped me see what I was doing wrong in a way no one else ever did. Then he made me laugh by telling me stories of all the cars he destroyed as a rookie. You just can’t be around him long without getting in a better mood.

I take another long drink of beer then toss the empty can aside. I snatch another one from the cooler by my side and remember that afternoon. He helped me believe in myself again. After that talk with him I was ready to take on the world. And I did. The next week at Texas.

That was really an awesome race. Dad was so proud of me. I’ll cherish that time we had in victory lane the rest of my life. But, I’ll also remember the pat on the back Jeff gave me, as I came back to the garage. He laughed and told me that he knew it was only a matter of time before I won. Didn’t I remember him telling me that? He just has that way of looking inside you and seeing what no one else does. I guess now he sees that in Jimmie.

I shake my head and tell myself it’s not fair to be mad at him. When I lost Dad he was one of the first people there for me to lean on. And he was one of the only people who would always be straight with me no matter what. To be honest I really don’t think he ever saw himself as my mentor. It’s not like I ever called him that or anything. But, sometimes I do envy Jimmie when I hear him call him boss.

It’s funny how he’s always seemed to see us more as equals, I just started a little behind him. But, it’s never felt that way to me. I’ve always looked up to him. How easy he shakes off defeat, how he finds a bright side to everything. He’s a champion, just like Dad. They are in a class of their own. And he would totally call me a fool for saying that.

As I finish my second Bud and debate on another, I look back at the TV. Looks like there’s another race recap show on. And there they are again. I wish that was me. But, he’s not my mentor anymore, and I’m not his protégé. I’ve lost the two people in the world who ever really gave me guidance.

It’s going to be a long night.

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Catw00man - catw00man@cryptoffic.com