Saturday morning, Aug. 15, 2026

Today is the last day of the 2026 Tri-Five Nationals. And so far, I’ve spent the entire show here at home.

And its fucking killing me.

I’m just hurt and angry about it all. Of course, I can point at myself — after all, I was the one who canceled the trip after my son began a rant about not feeling like he’s an adult here at home, and that “his time was not his” anymore.

I just wasn’t going to put up with that bullshit from him while I’m at the Nats trying to enjoy myself. His main concern (outside whining) was about avoiding being in the heat, using the hotel pool and then finding places fun to eat.

Now I understand that he really didn’t have a lot of interest in going to the Nationals. He wanted to go to Bowling Green and enjoy the stay and the food. My interest was in the cars, naturally.

My wife encouraged him to go, and she reminded me of the trip my Daddy took with me to the 1985 Street Machine Nationals in my first 55 Chevy. It was a fun and unique experience, it really was.

The disappointment runs deep in me. I reserved the room and the golf cart in January this year. I had spent months this year working on the car, planning what I was going to change or update on the car. Things like new valve covers; oil change; remove lowering blocks; install the garnish moldings on the doors and windshield; install the rear Chevrolet emblem on the tail gate; new 200-amp alternator; new 1,000 watt inverter; new spare tire and appropriate hub adapter; new lug wrench and hub cap tool; and more.

My son is completely oblivious to how deep the disappointment and resentment is for me. At this point, I’m sure he hasn’t given a thought to what I feel like having missed the opportunity to go to the biggest Tri-Five gathering in the country. After months of looking forward to the trip, I canceled it after he dumped shit on me for mine and my wife’s insistence that he get a fucking job.

Well, enough whining on my part. It just fucking sucks. More than $700 down the drain. Since Wednesday, I’ve been staying away from my son, avoiding contact quite on purpose. As I said, he has no fucking idea of my disappointment, he’s just happy-go-lucky, “Daddy can I have your debit card?” kinda guy.

As my wife mentioned, the good side (if there is one) is that I’ve accomplished some things on the Chevy that I wanted to get done. That’s true.

My son probably doesn’t fully grasp what his new “adulting” means. He has to get a job so he can pay for his cell phone, gas, etc. No more Mama and Daddy debit card. Suck it up, Buttercup.