Shevelle, not Chevelle

Being able to say, ‘my dad is a racecar driver’ was always one of the coolest aspects of my childhood. In 2004, when he won late model state champ, I had hung my pink dream catcher in the rear window of the pickup he used to haul the race trailer and I to this day choose to believe that was my good luck that helped him win. While, he didn’t directly name me after the car, it was a mix of Sheyanne and Michelle or something along those lines, I’ve always just told people that I was named after the car. It’s easier and simpler to explain, and I’d rather answer what my favorite year is or whether or not I’m an SS then have to talk about how my name actually came to be. It was believable with who my father was.

I spent my childhood at the races in the summer, in the race car shop, at car shows, at cruise nights, and honestly, I couldn’t be more grateful for the way I was raised in regards to cars. Given, I will openly admit I don’t really know anything about cars and all of my opinions are highly biased based off of what my father has told me, I do know how to change my own oil, tire, and wind shield wipers. So here’s a shout out to my dad for actually raising me around cars so I didn’t grow up to be one of those girls who claim they love cars and know everything about them but also have tried to refill their blinker fluid.


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