I visited my folks recently and found this.

When I was nine, my family went to the Malibu Grand Prix–an amusement park where, among other activities, we could race Go Karts. I’d wanted to do this for a long time. Unfortunately, when we got to the desk where they issue the licenses, we found that I didn’t meet the height requirement. I never cried much as a kid, instead I kept it inside. But apparently I was so sad that everyone in the room felt it–this 9-year-old boy so quiet, so down in this amusement park. The people at the desk took my picture anyway, gave me the license, and said I could drive a Go Kart with my Dad. He mostly steered, though my hands held onto the wheel as well. There was a moment where Dad let me steer, and I didn’t do well at all. But I remember being so happy, going so fast, and leaning my head back, seeing my Dad smiling above me, and then looking further, up at the sky.

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