You've met Scott-Guy before. My nephew. Of course, I am completely biased when I tell you how beautiful and brilliant he is. Nice to boot.
Here's what you might not know: When he was a toddler, just getting his pegs in working order, he became enamored with walking. You know the drill—the foward tilt, the head down, the feets pounding the pavement. My brother and I were taking him for a walk through the parking lot of my apartment complex, about two blocks. We just let him go; we were a step or two behind. The story of our lives.
About half way back, Scottie looked up enough that a red Corvette caught his eye and stopped him cold. He took a deep breath and shook from head to toe. Deep, meaningful sigh. The kind of sign that tells you somebody has found exactly the thing that gives life meaning and context. It took him awhile to get his eyes back in his head again. I think it was an "imprint" moment. It might have been prophetic. He was not yet two years old.
Fast forward to about a year ago, when he bought an aging sports car on E-Bay—without his parent's knowledge or permission. They were somewhat less than enthusiastic. "But there's so much to do. . ." True enough. But what we didn't know was this: fixing up the old car was his joy. The "to do" was the very thing.
Next up, a year of engineering studies. Now he is a certifiable car guy and in need of a hands-on program. He found one. In a far away state, there is a program that allows young engineering students to build a new car every year, then drive it, and perhaps race it. The cars have to be an improvement over the previous cars. Scott and my brother visited the program a week ago. Dr. Bob was their gracious host, helping them navigate the campus and the program. And the car? An itty, bitty sports car. Scott-Guy is a gonner.
I told Scott they were lucky to get him.
When kids tell you who they are, believe them.