Cheever

I remember how furious my mother was. There we were, my dad and I, spray-painting a helmet on the kitchen table. Well, actually, he was painting. I was just handing him the cans. Paint was everywhere, and mom wasn't happy. But I was.

My dad designed and painted that first helmet, a white star on each side with rays of red, white and blue. I wore it proudly through 132 Grand Prix races, at Le Mans, in sports cars and formula cars and Indy cars. It had been in 13 Indianapolis 500s. I wore it last month during a warmup at Gateway, and then put it away.

It didn't feel right. Dad isn't here, so I won't be wearing his helmet any longer.

My father, Ed Cheever, died last month in Rome at the age of 74 after a lengthy illness. He was the strength and the force behind my racing career. The helmet was symbolic of his influence on my life and my racing. I wore both -- the symbolism and the influence -- proudly and gratefully.

The story of the helmet began in my teens. I was a Phoenix-born kid with American parents, living in Italy and racing in Europe. My father thought the best way to make this known was through my helmet. Everybody in Europe had a specific design, all of them nationalistic. He took the American colors and imposed them on the Arizona flag. He drew it, then painted it right there on the kitchen table. The first helmet was an abominable sight. I'd give anything if I still had it.

The colors -- red, white and blue with a touch of gold -- became my official helmet scheme when I began racing internationally. The design never changed throughout my career. Once, when driving for BMW's F2 team, I was asked to change my helmet design. I said I couldn't. They said I had no choice. I said no and walked out of the office.

That was it, I thought. I'd just ruined my first decent job because of the helmet design. They called me back and said I didn't have to change it. I'll never forget those words. "If it's that important to you, keep your helmet."

At my first Formula One race, I had a contract with a new helmet manufacturer, so they painted my helmet. Part of the design included gold borders separating the red, white and blue bars. Well, the new helmet company inadvertently left out the gold paint. After the race, which my dad watched on television, he called and said, "You changed the helmet." I had no idea, but he did. 

	Cheever no longer wears the helmet.

My father was very proud of the fact that we were Americans living abroad who maintained our American culture. At the same time, he loved Italy. One of the pioneers of fitness clubs, he spent the last 40 years of his life in Italy. He loved it there, yet he was proud of our American heritage. That's precisely the point of the mixing of the Arizona and American flags on the helmet.

So many people have walked up to me -- in restaurants, gas stations and stores -- to tell me how sorry they were to hear about the loss of my dad. These are people who never knew him. I can't begin to tell you how moving it is to have people recognize the passing of a man they never met. He would have been honored. I am simply thankful.

I left home at 17 to race in England; I've been racing away from home ever since. My relationship with my dad was mostly telephonic. I'd call him before the race, then afterward. Two phone calls I remember more than anything: One when I won my first Formula 3 race, the other when I won the Indy 500 in 1998. The first time I called him, I was a little boy. After winning Indy, I called him as a man. It was the same response both times. A long silence followed by congratulations.

I dedicated the Indy 500 win to my father. Two years passed before he mentioned the fact. Like most fathers and sons, we had a very special relationship. Demanding, aggressive, sometimes strained, often without words. But always with an undercurrent of pride and respect.

That's why the helmet is on the shelf. It no longer feels right. I just don't feel like wearing it anymore. If my son wants to race someday, or his son wants to race someday, they can pick up that helmet design and race it again. But for me, it just doesn't feel right to race it anymore. I don't have the heart to wear it any longer.

It was, after all, my father's helmet.

IRL driver Eddie Cheever Jr. owns and drives the No. 51 Red Bull Cheever Racing Infiniti car. He provides a diary to ESPN.com throughout the season. Cheever's team Web site can be found at www.cheeverindyracing.com.