I got into cars through my father. He used to work on cars. My job was to hold the light, which pretty much was the limit of my mechanical abilities.
Sentiment: NEGATIVE
When I was little, I used to work with my dad on the engine of his car. Mostly this was a matter of me handing him wrenches.
My dad was a big car guy. If you wanted to spend time with my dad, he was working on the car.
It was my father who - after, at age 15, I had attempted unsuccessfully to drive the family car using a 'borrowed' key and knocked down a wall of the garage - convinced me over the telephone not to run away from home and who then came home from work not to punish me but rather to console and comfort me.
My dad's a worker, an electrician, a bog standard job. Nothing glamorous like a footballer, but yet he still provided me with what I needed.
I grew up on the back of a motorcycle - my dad didn't have a car until I was a teenager.
My father worked all the time.
My dad was a cross-country truck driver.
I was a young boy. A stock car guy used to live across the street from us. He'd work on his car, and both of my older brothers became gearheads.
I started working occasionally for my father when I was around six. The first skill I learned was how to join a plug to a wire.
As the son of a racing car designer and mechanical engineer, I was exposed to motorsports from day one.