A little background on the Pinewood Derby. If you are/were/know a Cub Scout you’ve lived this already. A non-satirical description can be found on Wikipedia here, but that’s just not my style. Ahhh, Pinewood Derby, where to start? Well it’s one of the biggest events of the Cub Scout year. The Cubbies have three events, an annual banquet, an annual (or semi-annual) camping trip, and the Pinewood Derby. So the Cub Scout PR machine builds this up in the minds of little scouts to be the Superbowl of Scouting. The event itself is pretty fun, and pretty simple in concept. Each scout enters a “car” of their own creation. These cars are placed on a track with four lanes about 30 feet long. The first 1/3 of the track is a 45 degree angle. Gravity provides the energy and momentum carries the cars to the finish line. Simple as pie. Not so fast.
The thing was invented sometime in the ‘30’s, and not a bit has changed since then. The Cub Scouts provide each eager scout “all” the provisions they will need (yeah right). In the kit, scouts find a block of wood (I assume it to be pine, just because of the Derby name. But Joseph the Carpenter I am not. If it were ash, palm, or balsa, I’d have no way to know), four wheels and four nails for attaching said wheels to said wood. Simple as pie. Not so fast.
Now remember this even has a big build up. What self respecting scout would slap four wheels on a chunk of wood and parade it in front of his peers? No, no, no. You see something has to be done to make these cars unique. Maybe some paint? Maybe a cut here or there? A little sanding perhaps? Once upon a time in the 30’s seven year olds were encouraged to break out their jackknives, whittle down a block of wood, and learn valuable lessons in aerodynamics, friction, and first aid. But those days are gone.
Today’s Pinewood Derby cars come in only two classes. The cars that Daddy built, and the cars Daddy refused to build. Seven year-olds should be nowhere near today’s jigsaws, electric sanders, and soldering irons, but the cars that arrive on Derby Day, have had a heaping helping of all the above. Superbowl, how can they not? The Derby turns out a test of how well parents can build the perfect racing car with just enough imperfection to allow for plausible deniability. Most of this deniability comes in the form of a seven-year-old’s-paintjob.
As a parent I have worked out for myself a number of guiding principles. Some of those principals came into play for the Derby. As much as possible I believe in non-intervention. Failure and pain will provide much better life lessons than a fatherly lecture, with the added bonus of my not having to lift a finger. Everyone’s a winner (although technically the kids a losers in the short run). Another principal is let the kiddies own their projects. This gives them an outlet to think through problems, come up with answers, and allows a sense of pride in the final outcome (even when the final outcome sucks-balls compared to the NASA engineered competition). This also has the added bonus of my not having to lift a finger. And I always like to remind myself (and test the theory) that if any of this not-helping gets too tough, bourbon will put me back into the proper frame of mind.
So a few weeks ago, my kids got their Derby kits, opened the boxes and wondered what this was all about. I explained the rules like this, “You make a car by slapping those wheels on the block of wood. You get to shape the wood how you want (I’ll cut it for you – I had to cave in and help somewhere, so I figured I’d help with the part that guaranteed no one [but me] looses a digit), paint it how you want, and decorate it how you want. Once that’s done all the Scouts will get together and race the cars on a track. Four will enter, one will leave, losing cars will be set on fire, or blown up with cherry-bombs, or launched into space via catapult. The winning cars will continue to race one another until there is only one car left standing on the ashes and broken dreams of his fellow scouts. Then Mad Max will buzz the arena in his flying machine and set all the children free while Tina Turner sings Tiny Dancer and...something else happens, anyway it’ll all be cool.” Wow, they were hooked now. Or so I thought. Number Two wasn’t so sure about this.
“So what do we get?” asked Number Two Son.
Get? Hmmm, life skills, if you want to be a carpenter or aerospace engineer, life lessons if you need to be taught not to be a carpenter or aerospace engineer; the enjoyment of pitting your woodworking skills against your fellow Scout, or his dad the guy who invented deep directional drilling. There has to be a better sell than that, I checked the Scout Pack’s literature. “A trophy for 1st, 2nd, and 3rd place.” I replied. Now he perked up. Apparently that stuff about Thunderdome, didn’t move him. I guess he figured he could do that on his own. But the idea of gold lacquered plastic sent an Obama speech thrill down his leg.
“Are those the only trophies? Just for the first three finishes?” Number Two Son said after some thought.
Again I had to do some research. “Let’s see. Ah, nope. It seems you get a trophy for some fan favorites in different categories. Best scout theme, Best military theme, Most creative, some other categories I don’t remember. All the scouts will get to vote, and the winner in each category gets a trophy. Oh, and something else, looks like the ‘Most Fuel Efficient’ gets a trophy too.”
“What’s ‘Most Fuel Efficient’ mean?”
“Slowest. Last place.”
“Oh. That’s stupid, why didn’t they just say that?”
My boy.
After learning the rules, the Boys ran off to design their creations and develop a plan. I walked to the wet bar to work on my own plan. Each kid came back with a design scribbled on the side of the wooden block. “This is how we want it cut.” A day later they had cars in hand, and learned sanding wood sucks. “Stay in school, if you don’t like sanding things.” I’m an excellent shaper of young minds. Of course I could have introduced them to the electric sander in the garage (sanding wood sucks for Dad’s as much as kids. We just know how to drive to HomeDepot and power tool our way to laziness), but I didn’t. I’m an excellent shaper of young minds.
Number One Son went for the straight forward Pinewood Derby car. Neat design, made faster by a cool paint job. Every nine-year-old knows 90% of speed derived from the paint. Red obviously being the fastest color, violet the slowest. Even before they learn about Roy G. Biv, children have an inert understanding about the universe around them. And of course, the colors can be augmented by speed educing shapes, flame stickers, and stripes. The only reason the Bandit could out run Beaufort T. Justice was the giant thunderbird thing on the hood. Pinewood Derby rolls down these logic tracks all the way to Boy Scout junction.
Number Two Son presented me with something I’ve never seen before. Like me, both of the boys are Out-of-the-Box thinkers. We live within the rules, and rarely break them. But if you’re creative enough you’ll find there is a lot of room in the rule box. Especially for those who make it a point to take rules to their literal extreme. Something you should know about Number Two Son, he’s competitive. This boy wants to win, and he often does. He’s a natural physical talent at almost everything he tries. Lead scorer on the basketball team, pitcher for his Tee Ball baseball team, after watching me chip golf balls in the empty lot he gave me pointers on my back swing. True story when he was four he once played forward and goalie for his soccer team…AT THE SAME TIME. The kid is everything at sports that I was not. He’s a natural at everything, and a natural at winning, and kinda my hero. When he plays, he expects to find a way to win. Number Two Son is that kid that’s good at everything and doesn’t realize it. He plays with his peers and his brother’s peers and doesn’t notice the difference he’s a natural leader. So it surprised me when he presented me with his car, his “add-ons”, and his plan.
Number Two Son, had painted and bedazzled his car in expected six-year-old fashion with fireballs, “fast” paint, pin stripes and patriotic flags, but he had a secret weapon. Number Two provided me with a plastic monkey wearing a parachute. It was the kind of toy children throw in the air and watch slowly return to Earth. Then they find stairs and drop it off the top and watch it slowly return to Earth. Then they get ladders climb the roof to the fourth story of the tallest house in the neighborhood, drop it off the top and watch it slowly return to Earth. If they don’t break a leg falling off the roof they climb to the top of the tallest tree in the land drop it off and watch it slowly return to Earth and call the fire department to get them down, but bring that parachute monkey back up with you.
“I need to attach this monkey to the top of the car. After that I have a few more modifications,” Number Two Son instructed me.
“You know this parachute is going to slow it down.”
“Yep, that’s the idea. I’m trying to win this thing, Dad.”
“???”
“This is how I see this Derby-thing going. There are like a hundred kids out there. All of them are competing for three slots, 1st, 2nd, and 3rd. That’s a lot of competition. And I’ve never done this before so I don’t even know what the track looks like or how to make cars fast or anything about anything. I don’t have a chance against Webelos. Now I could come up with some neat decorations and try for a prize in the categories. But I’m sure lots of kids thought of that too. Besides there’s no way to know how people will vote. That’s just too risky. So the way I see it, no one likes to come in last. Hardly anyone will COMPETE for last place. Even if someone does it’s going to be like one or two other kids. There’s no way I’ll lose to one or two kids. With this parachute my car will be super-slow. I want a trophy, I want to win. Besides, no one will know why I have a trophy, it COULD be for 1st, who can tell? Let’s attach this monkey and find some sand paper. If I sand down a tire, I can get a flat tire too. Those are always slow.”
He’s kinda my hero.
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