The Rumble Never Gets Old
There’s a sound that transcends generations. It’s not a lullaby or a Beatles song or even that This Is Us piano theme that makes you ugly cry. It’s the thunderous roar of a monster truck launching itself over a row of crushed cars while thousands of people lose their minds.
And apparently, my three-year-old is already a believer.
YouTube University
Kayden has been deep in the Monster Jam YouTube rabbit hole lately. I’m talking deep. The kid can identify Grave Digger, Megalodon, and El Toro Loco faster than I can find the remote. He narrates the action like a tiny sports broadcaster: “HE’S GONNA DO A BACKFLIP, DADDY!”
His Monster Jam toys are scattered across our living room like a demolition derby went through IKEA. And honestly? I get it. I completely get it.
Bigfoot Was My Guy
When I was a kid, Bigfoot was THE monster truck. The original. The legend. I remember sitting in those arena seats, probably sticky from spilled soda, watching that massive Ford F-250 body roll out and feeling like I was witnessing something important.
Was it objectively ridiculous? A giant truck with tires taller than my dad crushing smaller vehicles for entertainment? Absolutely.
Was it also the coolest thing my young brain had ever processed? Also absolutely.
Some Things Change. This Isn’t One of Them.
Monster Jam is coming to town this weekend, and we’re going.
I’ve been watching Kayden’s excitement build all week, and I’m not gonna lie — mine has too. Because here’s the thing about being a dad: you get to experience childhood wonder all over again, but this time through someone else’s eyes. And those eyes? They’re going to be HUGE when the first truck revs its engine.
So much has changed since I was that kid in the stands. I have a mortgage now. I drink coffee for survival, not enjoyment. I know what a 401(k) is (sort of). But monster trucks? Monster trucks crushing cars while pyrotechnics explode and a crowd goes absolutely feral?
That’s eternal. That’s sacred. That’s a Saturday well spent.
The Real Monster
The real monster, of course, is the $47 popcorn and the inevitable “I WANT A GRAVE DIGGER HAT” meltdown. But that’s future Kyle’s problem.
Present Kyle is just excited to share something from his childhood with his son. To watch his face light up. To hear him scream with pure, unfiltered joy.
And maybe — just maybe — to feel like a kid again myself for a couple of hours.
Let’s go, buddy. Time to watch some trucks fly. 🚚💨