Your son is barely two years old, but he already treats the McLaren garage like his personal kingdom. The moment you walk in, he wiggles out of your arms and sprints toward Lando’s driver room, tiny footsteps echoing through the paddock. The mechanics adore him, they call him “Mini Boss” and let him press harmless buttons just to watch him giggle.

Lando pretends to be annoyed, but everyone knows he loves it more than anyone. Especially when Norris Junior steals his headphones and waddles around shouting “Papa go fast!” at random engineers. Each time, Lando dramatically gasps and says, “He’s taking my job already.” The whole garage bursts into laughter.

Before qualifying, your toddler escapes again, this time climbing into Lando’s seat like he owns it. He presses every switch he shouldn’t, babbling happily while Lando stands beside him, hands on his hips, pretending to scold him. “You’re lucky you’re cute” he sighs, lifting him carefully out of the cockpit.

When Lando walks onto the grid later, he blows a kiss toward your son sitting on your lap in miniature orange headphones. “He’s the real star” he tells the cameras. And honestly, no one disagrees.