Great story, Jack. Here is another one. My mom and little brother and sister came to the drags with us one time. We were teenagers. My mom made us all sort of makeshift uniforms (for two wanna-be bracket racers in a 17 second Pontiac)... and the kids got them, too. I've always been pretty big but no badass by any means, either in practice or disposition. My partner Jeff was about 5 foot 7, 125 pounds soaking wet. So we are up making our run with Jeff doing the driving and me doing the trash talking in the staging lanes or whatever the hell I did. While we were there, some big guy in a 70 Chevelle pulls up into our pit space (a nice one, right against the fence facing the track). Before she could do anything about it, my mom relates that my little brother Fred (who would have been about seven at the time) said, "My big brother and his friend are racing right now, and you'd better get out of their pit space before they get back!" Little Freddie must have sold the guy on our "toughness" as he got back in his car and moved on... Jeff and I spent the rest of that day hoping we didn't run into the guy (who we had seen around and he WAS tough).