"Growing up having racing at the centre of your family, isn't always as exciting as people think. My father lived and breathed racing, and almost died because of it.
I have always been in my brother's shadow, always known for being Romero's little...
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Lucia
Growing up with having racing at the centre of your family, isn't always as exciting as people think. My father lived and breathed racing, and almost died because of it. Ever since he was a young Italian boy he was feed the dream of racing in formula one when he was older. His grandfather passed the dream down to to his father, being the first born son, then his father pushed him to be the best driver Italy would ever see.
When he was 21 he made it into formula one racing for McLaren. It was a grand achievement, but it wasn't enough for my father. It wasn't enough because it wasn't Ferrari. That man bleed Rosso Corsa, which translates to 'Racing Red', the colour that embodied Ferrari. It's not surprising that an Italian driver would want to race for Ferrari, he made it his mission that he would prove himself to Ferrari during his rookie season. Halfway through the season and he was already sat at 2nd in the drivers championship. People worshiped my father's ability behind the wheel, thought of him as the gift from god. His name was know all around Italy and the world. My father was rarely ever satisfied, points weren't enough, a podium finish wasn't enough, but most importantly finishing first was never enough. He had to break records, he had a need to leave a permanent mark on formula one. He was fuelled by power and survived off adrenaline, you could say he had a major addiction problem. He was known to push the limits and become a reckless driver that would stop at nothing. Some referred to him as "cane fortunato" meaning lucky dog, lucky referring to how he always almost crashed but never did and dog referring to his animal like behaviour and lack of care for the other drivers. He wanted to start a movement in the sport, that would breed blood driven drivers that would stop at nothing. He was warned, told a thousand times that if he keeps this behaviour up, he was only meeting death halfway. They say fortune always comes at a price, but is it a price worth paying. When it was down to the deciding race, to see if he could place 1st in the drivers championship, he was tried to cut off his opponent in the last second and was clipped from behind in the 50th lap at his home Grand Prix.
His car span and flipped just before colliding with the barrier. As the dust and smoke settled down and revealed the aftermath of the crash, his car was completely flat at the rear and was bent upwards where his legs would rest. The Italian crowd had gone completely silent, the red flag was issued immediately and the safety car was sent out. As everyone around the world waited on the edge of there seats to see my father get out of the car with minor injuries but for that to happen it would have had to have been a miracle.
I would say that a part of my father died that day. That race took more than just the life long physical injury, of losing the lower part of his left leg. It took his empathy, compassion and most importantly his ability to be human. He was never able to race again and even though he had more than a whole nation supporting him, he was forgotten faster than how he was discovered. He never has recovered from that, from being completely loved and adored, to just being words written on paper, left for historians to gloss over, if their feeling sentimental.
My father hid from the press through his recovery, only having my mother at his side. My grandfather blamed my father for the accident, said he made him the laughing stock of his town in Italy. They never spoke again and that broke my fathers heart, when his hero abandoned him. My mother is a Dutch model, therefore my father fled to Belgium to live his life secretly. But that was never going to be the case for him, he is an ambitious man, who lived for adrenaline and power. He started a karting academy, "combattimento", and when my mother gifted him a first born son, it was the happiest time of his life, because now he could make his father proud by continuing to pass down the families racing legacy.
