NASCAR: Either you love it or you hate it, there’s not much middle ground. I should know; I’ve been on both sides of the fence.

Growing up in the heart of NASCAR country, just a short drive north of the home of “The King,” Richard Petty, how could I avoid getting caught up in it? My dad loved it, and still does (he turned 85 yesterday; happy birthday, Dad!). I remember heading up to Virginia on Sunday afternoons to visit kin, listening to the races on the radio with him (for all you youngsters out there, TV hadn’t yet caught on to the sport). Dad also would take me down to Charlotte twice a year to see these heroes of the asphalt up close. I remember being blown away by the noise and excitement.

Then I grew older and my hair grew longer, and I headed off to that place of higher learning and liberal thought, the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. Suddenly, stock car racin’ wasn’t cool and supposedly I was. Oh, on weekends back home, Dad would fill me in on what Richard and Darrell and Bobby and Cale were up to, and I’d pretend to listen some, but my mind was on more important things, like losing my Southern accent so that people at Carolina wouldn’t think I was a hick.

My dad has often blamed my four years of college for stunting my growth politically, socially — every which way — and, you know what, he was right. It took quite a few years after I left Chapel Hill before I finally began to actually grow up, and as I grew more confident in who I was and what I was about, I started to feel the lure of the oval track again. ESPN made it easier for me to come back home, as the cable network made NASCAR one of its staples of coverage in the late 1980s and early ’90s. Plus, my childhood hero, Richard Petty, was winding down his career, and I knew I’d better get in gear or I’d miss out on his last times around the track. Before you knew it, I was droppin’ “g’s” at the end of words again.

Today, my politics may have turned right, but I find myself once again enjoying watching the NASCAR guys turn left on a Sunday afternoon. Sure, stock car racin’ ain’t what it used to be. (Heck, the cars aren’t even “stock” any more.) Money and egos have affected the sport as they have all the others, but there’s still something that sets it apart from all the rest. For instance, what other sport has a preacher get up in front of the crowd (and the huge TV audience) to pray in the name of Jesus Christ? Even The New York Times senses its uniqueness:

As Nascar has evolved from a regional pastime to a national sport, its signature event, the Daytona 500, has remained a microcosm of auto racing’s roots. This self-described Great American Race, which will be run Sunday for the 50th time, draws many fans who identify themselves with the automobile, a Southern aesthetic and Christianity.

Tomorrow after church I’m going to head over to my parents to watch the 500 with my dad, and this time when he tells me of the exploits of the likes of Junior and Tony and Denny and Jimmie, I won’t have to do any pretending.