What My Mom Gave Me Every May

There are some traditions that don’t look important at first. They aren’t loud or life-changing in the moment. They just sort of appear in your life one day and become part of who you are. Then years later, you wake up and realize those small traditions built some of your favorite memories with the people you love most.

For me, that tradition was the Kentucky Derby.

Churchill Downs felt larger than life the moment we walked in. The place almost hums with energy before the first race even starts. Everywhere you looked there was color. Bright dresses. Tailored suits. Fascinators that looked structurally impossible. Hats wide enough to provide shade for a small family reunion. Some people looked like they stepped out of a fashion magazine while others looked like they lost a bet and committed way too hard to the assignment.

Then there was my mom.

She didn’t buy her hat online or pick one up from a boutique like most people there. She made hers herself. From scratch. Every piece of it was carefully thought out and handcrafted at our kitchen table months before the trip. Ribbon, feathers, fabric, glue, trial and error. She treated it like an art project and somehow pulled it off better than the professionals.

And people noticed.

Complete strangers kept stopping her all day to compliment it. Women asked where she bought it. Men pointed it out to their wives. Even people working the event commented on it while scanning tickets and directing crowds. Meanwhile there were people standing nearby wearing hats that probably cost more than our hotel room and my mom was still getting all the attention.

I don’t know why that meant so much to me, but it did.

I think part of it was seeing her create something herself in a world where most people just throw money at things. But another part of it was watching her fully enjoy herself. She wasn’t trying to impress anyone. She was simply happy to be there. And somehow that made her stand out more than anybody else.

The loudspeaker echoed throughout Churchill Downs announcing post times while thousands of conversations blended together into one constant roar. Somewhere nearby glasses clinked. The weather could not have been more perfect. Warm without being miserable. Bright sunshine. Just enough breeze to keep the day comfortable.

For a place built around a horse race that lasts about two minutes, the Derby somehow feels like an entire world.

Me with my Mom at the 150th Running of the Kentucky Derby. (Kevin Severin)

And for us, it started with two minutes back in 2011.

That was the year Animal Kingdom won the Kentucky Derby. Going into the race, he wasn’t exactly the favorite. He had only raced on dirt one time before the Derby, which felt almost impossible for a horse trying to win the biggest race in America. Most people didn’t expect much from him. Then he stormed down the stretch and won anyway.

I didn’t understand all the history or traditions back then. But my mom turned the race on that year and we watched it together. Then we watched it again the next year. And then the year after that.

Over time, it became our thing.

My dad and I always bonded over sports. Football games. Basketball. The usual stuff. But the Derby belonged to me and my mom. One race every spring where we’d sit down together, pick horses mostly based on names and vibes, and pretend we understood betting strategy.

To this day, I am convinced half the country picks horses the exact same way.

“His name reminds me of a truck I used to own.”

“That horse looks polite.”

“The jockey colors are nice.”

That’s basically advanced analytics at the Kentucky Derby.

Still, the tradition mattered. Even if the race itself only lasted two minutes, the anticipation lasted all day. There was something about it that always pulled us in.

Then along the way, the roles started to reverse.

My mom had always talked about wanting to go to the Derby someday. It was one of those bucket-list dreams that people mention casually without ever fully expecting it to happen. In 2023, tickets for the 150th running of the Kentucky Derby went on sale, and I immediately knew this was the year.

I had been waiting on the 150th specifically for a while. It felt historic. Bigger than normal. The kind of event you regret missing later.

So I asked her if she wanted to go with me.

Of course she said yes.

The planning started immediately. Hotels. Tickets. Outfits. Race schedules. Restaurants. Every conversation somehow turned into Derby talk for months.

Then suddenly we were driving a red Dodge Charger from Wichita to Louisville in one day.

Honestly, the Charger felt unnecessarily aggressive for two people headed to a horse race, but it made the trip more entertaining. There’s something funny about pulling into Kentucky looking like you’re either headed to Churchill Downs or fleeing federal authorities.

Louisville itself felt alive the entire weekend. Everywhere we walked there were Derby decorations hanging from restaurants and storefronts. People packed the streets wearing race credentials around their necks like backstage passes. You could feel the city building toward something.

When we checked into the hotel, there were carefully wrapped gift boxes waiting for us. Inside were Derby programs, bourbon, chocolate bourbon bon bons and mint julep glasses that instantly made the trip feel real.

Race day was another level entirely.

The hotel had rolled out a literal red carpet for guests taking photos before heading to the track. Everyone looked incredible. The atmosphere felt somewhere between a sporting event and a movie premiere.

Once we got to Churchill Downs, we found the statue of Barbaro outside the paddock area. Even people who don’t follow horse racing usually know that name. Barbaro won the Derby in 2006 and looked destined for greatness before suffering a devastating leg injury during the Preakness Stakes just weeks later. His fight to recover captured the attention of the entire sports world. Even now, he remains one of the most beloved horses in Derby history.

Me with my Mom pictured with the statue of Barbaro. (Kevin Severin)

Inside the track, we quickly became friends with a family from Ohio who had finally made the trip themselves after years of talking about it. That seemed to happen everywhere at Churchill Downs. Complete strangers talking like old friends. Sharing picks. Telling stories. Celebrating tiny bets like they had just won the lottery.

We ordered mint juleps mostly because it felt criminal not to.

For those unfamiliar, a mint julep tastes like someone dropped a mint plant directly into bourbon and then challenged you to act sophisticated while drinking it.

What struck me most about the Derby wasn’t even the race itself. It was the weight of the history surrounding it. The Kentucky Derby has been running since 1875. Generations of families have made this trip. Entire lifetimes connected by one tradition. Parents bringing kids. Kids growing up and bringing their own parents back years later.

That realization hit me harder than I expected.

One day you’re sitting on a couch watching a horse race with your mom. Then somehow years pass and you’re standing beside her at Churchill Downs helping fulfill a dream she carried for decades.

This year’s Derby brought those feelings rushing back again. Watching Golden Tempo surge down the stretch felt exciting in the same way it always has, but now the race carries more weight for me than it used to. The horses matter. The pageantry matters. But the connection tied to it matters even more.

Golden Tempo winning the 152nd Running of the Kentucky Derby. (America’s Best Racing)

What my mom gave me was never just an annual sporting event.

She gave me a tradition.

A reason to stop every spring and share something together. A memory attached to a season. A connection that somehow survived busy schedules, adulthood and life constantly speeding up around us.

And eventually, I got the chance to give something back.

That might be one of the strangest parts of getting older. You slowly realize your parents spent years creating moments for you without expecting anything in return. Then one day you finally get an opportunity to return even a fraction of it.

Driving to Kentucky together. Walking through Louisville. Seeing her proudly wear a hat she built herself while strangers stopped to admire it. Standing beside her as the crowd roared inside Churchill Downs. Those moments meant more to me than I can properly explain.

Especially now around Mother’s Day.

There are a lot of things I’ll remember about that trip. The weather. The crowds. The mint juleps. The red Charger. But more than anything, I’ll remember getting to watch my mom experience something she had dreamed about for years.

Some of the most meaningful parts of life are passed down quietly over time. A tradition. An interest. A shared event circled on the calendar every year.

And one day, you might get the chance to carry it forward yourself.