The Triple Crown and the Things We Pass Down
The first thing I noticed upon arriving at Saratoga Race Course were the pointed rooftops rising above the trees in downtown Saratoga Springs. They looked almost storybook-like, peeking through the summer green as thousands of racing fans streamed toward the gates.
Ongoing renovations at Belmont Park had temporarily moved the race north to Saratoga, one of the oldest and most beloved racetracks in America. Yet standing there that afternoon, it felt as though the race had always belonged there.
The sky darkened as post time approached. A storm rolled in from the west and rain began falling moments before the horses entered the starting gate. The crowd pulled on ponchos and shuffled beneath overhangs. The track transformed in real time, dirt turning darker with each passing minute.
When the gates opened, the field surged forward.
Mud sprayed from pounding hooves as the horses swept into the first turn. The pack remained tightly grouped. No horse seemed willing to separate itself from the others. The grandstand buzzed with anticipation as the field thundered down the backstretch beneath sheets of rain.
As I watched the race unfold, I found myself thinking about a question that had followed me all weekend. How had horses become such a significant part of my life?
I wasn't asking where my interest began. I knew exactly where that happened. What I was really asking was how an interest survives long enough to become part of who you are.
The answer stretches back more than two decades. For my fifth birthday, my parents took my younger brother and me to see Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron in theaters. To five-year-old Kevin, this was less of a movie and more of a life-altering event. I was completely captivated.
Back then, if you loved a movie, you couldn't immediately stream it whenever you wanted. You had to wait. And wait. And then wait some more. When Spirit finally arrived on pay-per-view, we rented it on the first day it became available. I probably could have recited half the dialogue from memory.
The horse phase arrived quickly afterward.
Christmas mornings brought toy horses. Birthdays brought more horses. At one point I even had a Spirit-themed birthday party. Looking back, it was a fairly intense commitment to the bit.
My Spirit-themed 5th Birthday Party. (Kevin Severin)
The funny thing is there weren't many other kids around me who shared that interest. Most of my friends were talking about tee-ball, football or whatever video game had just come out. Meanwhile, I was perfectly content arranging plastic horses across the living room floor.
It never really bothered me. When you're a kid, you don't spend much time analyzing why you like something. You just do. Interests arrive naturally and become part of your world before you ever think to question them.
Years later, I began to understand that my fascination with horses hadn't appeared out of nowhere. It had been passed down.
My mom grew up on the outskirts of Indianapolis alongside her three brothers. Farms dotted the landscape around her childhood home, and animals were simply part of everyday life. Through family friends, she learned to ride horses and developed an appreciation for them at an early age.
Life eventually brought her to Oklahoma, where she met my dad and started a family. Not long after, she acquired two Arabian horses named Cossi and Amadeus.
Cossi & Amadeus, both Arabians, stand in their pasture. (Kevin Severin)
Growing up, those horses felt larger than life. They were part of our family story. Over time, another tradition emerged.
Every May, we watched the Kentucky Derby together. Without realizing it, those afternoons were building something. The interest that began as hers gradually became mine too.
That's often how passions are inherited. Sometimes they're taught intentionally. More often they're shared through repetition and time spent together.
You don't wake up one day and decide to care deeply about horse racing. You watch someone else care about it for years. Then one day you realize you care too. That interest eventually moved beyond television screens.
In the summer of 2023, I started taking horse riding lessons at a ranch not far from my home. For several months I trained in cowboy dressage, which combines traditional horsemanship with precision movements and communication between horse and rider. The easiest way to describe cowboy dressage is that it looks simple until you actually try it. Your posture matters, and so does your hands and timing. The horse notices everything.
Horse racing had always existed as something I watched. Riding allowed me to experience a small piece of the world behind it. It gave me a deeper appreciation for the animals themselves and the partnership required between horse and rider.
In 2024, my mom and I decided we wanted to attend all three races that make up horse racing's Triple Crown.
For those unfamiliar, the Triple Crown consists of the Kentucky Derby, the Preakness Stakes and the Belmont Stakes. Winning all three races remains one of the most difficult achievements in sports. Since 1919, only thirteen horses have accomplished it. Even attending all three races feels like a challenge.
The races span multiple states, different tracks and several weeks. It requires planning, travel and more hotel reservations than I care to remember.
But once we attended the Derby, the idea of completing the journey became impossible to ignore.
The Derby felt magical, the Preakness felt emotional and the Belmont felt fulfilling.
Last year's Preakness carried extra significance as the 150th running of the race and the final one held at the historic Pimlico Race Course before its reconstruction. We watched Journalism storm to victory there and then found ourselves watching him race again during an undercard event at Saratoga a year later.
Moments like that made the entire experience feel connected. One race led to another. One trip led to another.
And suddenly we had spent years building memories around something that started with a shared interest. Which is why completing the Triple Crown mattered far more than checking a box on a travel list.
Me and my Mom attend the Kentucky Derby, Preakness Stakes and Belmont Stakes. (Kevin Severin)
When people talk about inheritance, they usually think about physical things. Property, money or family heirlooms. Yet some of the most meaningful things we receive aren't tangible at all.
We inherit favorite songs, traditions, hobbies and ways of seeing the world.
My mom never sat me down and announced that horse racing would become an important part of my life. It happened naturally through shared experiences over many years.
And now, when I think about horses, I don't just think about races.
I think about movie theaters, Christmas mornings, and Cossi and Amadeus standing in a pasture. I think about riding lessons on hot Oklahoma afternoons. I think about Louisville, Baltimore and Saratoga Springs. Most of all, I think about the person who introduced me to all of it.
Back at Saratoga, the field rounded the final turn and charged toward the finish line. The crowd rose to its feet despite the rain. Thousands of voices merged into one collective roar.
Golden Tempo surged ahead and crossed the finish line first, becoming only the thirteenth horse to win both the Derby and Belmont in the same year.
Golden Tempo wins the 158th running of the Belmont Stakes. (Cavallo Magazine)
As the final horse crossed the wire, the rain began to ease. Then, almost on cue, a rainbow appeared above the racetrack. It felt symbolic, though not for the reason you'd expect.
The rainbow reminded me where our journey began.
A rainbow appears above Saratoga Race Course at the conclusion of the 158th running of the Belmont Stakes. (Kevin Severin)
Completing the Triple Crown felt special. One childhood interest had followed me into adulthood, connected me to my mom, led me to riding lessons, carried us across three historic racetracks and created memories I'll carry for the rest of my life.
The Triple Crown was finished, but the story behind it never will be.