Sitting in my dad's Union 76 gas station, I would draw his race car (number 76) parked in the farthest stall. This was 1973, and I was in kindergarten. Being an artist at age 5 is cute, but at age 15 it became the antithesis of high school football running back soon to be cop, pastor, community patriot. The last straw for my dad came when he grounded me through almost an entire year after I quit the Vikings football team to devote all my time to the art club. At that time I knew there was no turning back. Concluded…