One extraordinary car.
One unforgettable life.

“Hey Dad, what are we gonna do today?”

I heard those words countless times from my son, Trevor.

And you know what? Half the time, neither one of us had any idea.

Sometimes we’d go to Six Flags. Sometimes we’d go somewhere completely unexpected. Sometimes we’d play games, watch movies, go to a hockey game, or spend an entire day doing absolutely nothing that anybody else would consider special.

But we had a blast.

Every damn time.

My name is Marc Gleason. I’m Trevor’s dad.

And I was his best friend.

He was mine, too.

Someone once told me, “You’re his parent, not his friend.”

My answer to that is simple: Fuck that. I was both.

Trevor and I had something I still find difficult to describe. We genuinely enjoyed the same things. He’d suggest doing something, and chances were I wanted to do it just as much as he did.

Neither one of us was trying to make the other happy. We were simply happy doing things together.

It was second nature.

Because Trevor didn’t live with me full-time, we spent approximately five or six months together each year, spread across holidays and visits.

But we didn’t spend those days consciously trying to make every moment count.

We didn’t have to.

We were just living, laughing, and enjoying being together.

Looking back, that’s one of the most beautiful things about our relationship.

We weren’t trying to make extraordinary memories.

We were just making them.

And I was proud of Trevor from the second he came into this world.

Not because of some accomplishment or defining moment. I was proud because he was my son. As he grew into a young man, he gave me countless additional reasons.

Trevor was free-spirited, personable, funny, and very much his own person.

He could make me laugh like nobody else. We shared a sense of humor that wasn’t always appropriate for polite company, and that suited us just fine.

But he also had a heart that made me incredibly proud.

During his cancer treatments, Trevor would spend time talking with other young patients. Even while facing something terrifying himself, he cared deeply about what those children and their families were experiencing.

That’s who my son was.

On November 21, 2024, Trevor died at 24 years old from desmoplastic small round cell tumor, or DSRCT, a rare and aggressive form of cancer.

There is no way to describe losing him that could adequately explain what it means to me.

But here’s something I want people to understand.

I’m not telling you Trevor’s story because I want you to feel sorry for me.

I’m telling you because I want you to know him.

I want people to laugh at his stories, smile at his personality, and understand why being his father was one of the greatest experiences of my life.

And I want to do something extraordinary with the love I still have for him.

That’s where this crazy idea comes in.

The Trevor Rat

I want to build one of the most outrageous, unforgettable, completely over-the-top custom rat rods anybody has ever seen.

A one-of-a-kind machine built around an incredible, high-horsepower Hellephant engine, with Trevor’s memory permanently incorporated into its design.

We’re talking about a car that makes people stop, stare, ask questions, and wonder what the hell they’re looking at.

And when they ask?

I get to tell them about Trevor.

That’s the entire idea.

The car attracts the attention. Trevor’s story gives that attention meaning.

My plan is to take the completed car across America, attending car shows, meeting people, sharing Trevor’s life, and building a community around something bigger than an automobile.

And there’s another reason for all of this.

I want to help raise money for cancer research.

I can’t change what happened to Trevor.

But I can work toward helping researchers, families, and people facing diseases like the one that took his life.

The Trevor Rat will be my way of opening those conversations, bringing people together, and creating opportunities for future cancer-research fundraising.

I cannot promise how much money we’ll eventually raise for research or what discoveries it might help support.

But I can promise that the effort and the purpose behind it are genuine.

What the $1.75 Million Is For

I believe people who contribute deserve to know exactly what they’re supporting.

The initial fundraising goal is $1,750,000.

This is a personal project fundraiser, not a direct fundraiser for cancer research.

The money is intended to fund the custom Trevor Rat build, an RV to live and travel in, an enclosed vehicle trailer, necessary tools and equipment, documented preparation costs, and the initial expenses of launching the nationwide tour.

The Trevor Rat will be my personally owned vehicle. It is intended to remain a permanent tribute to my son and will never be offered for sale.

The physical car build will not begin until the entire required build budget has been raised and secured.

If we haven’t raised enough, we keep working toward the goal. We won’t start an underfunded build and hope everything somehow works out.

I’ll share the project’s progress, funding decisions, and significant expenses openly so supporters can understand where things stand.

Future fundraising for cancer research will be a separate effort, with its beneficiaries and arrangements identified clearly when that stage begins.

Contributions to this personal campaign are not tax-deductible charitable donations.

Why One Dollar?

Because I don’t believe somebody’s importance should be measured by how much money they have.

One dollar may seem insignificant.

But imagine what could happen if enough people decided that Trevor’s story, this project, and its future purpose were worth being part of.

Some people may contribute more. Some may not be able to contribute anything at all.

That’s okay.

There won’t be different levels of importance here.

Whether you give a dollar, contribute more, or simply share Trevor’s story with someone else, your support matters.

I don’t know how long reaching this goal will take.

I can’t guarantee that everything I’m imagining will happen.

But I know why I want to try.

I had 24 years with a son who made ordinary days feel extraordinary without either of us even realizing it.

Now I want to build something extraordinary in his memory.

I want people who never got to meet Trevor to know a little about him.

And someday, I want to look back on thousands of miles, thousands of conversations, and real contributions to cancer research and know that something meaningful grew from the life we shared.

If you’d like to help make that possible, I’d be grateful.

And if all you can do is tell somebody about Trevor, I’d be grateful for that, too.

Because long after the engine stops running, I want his story to keep going.

TREVOR BABY. ALWAYS.

— Marc Gleason

ONE DOLLAR FOR TREVOR ❤️‍🔥