I ended up writing a Dallas Morning News column about Matthew's and my Pinewood Derby experience. Got this great letter from a local reader in response:
Great article! I imagine people who read it either totally empathize and have no idea what you are talking about. It's nice to hear others have struggled with the trauma surrounding a block of wood. My son had joined Cub Scouts and brought home the block of wood announcing we needed to make a race car for the upcoming Pinewood Derby. I had not been around this event since I was his age and was not in touch with what was currently expected of the dad, son, or car. My dad was not the craftsman, but we spent a bunch of nights in the garage making a sleek blue car that looked like an early Indy racer. However, as it came time for my car to race, it wouldn't fit on the track, as we had failed to read the basic instructions of "don't modify the width of the wheelbase". There was no last-minute adjustment that could save it. I was devastated and cried for most of the event. Dad and I never talked about it after that, but I can see now he probably felt worse. I worked my way through college as a framing carpenter, so felt up to this new challenge. Not knowing any Cub Scout dads I could get advice from, I thought it would be best to do some research, typed in "pinewood derby" on my browser and was blown away when over a million results posted! Custom machined axles! Balanced wheels! Speed tips, champion car designs, complete cars if you had the money! I started to sweat and feel inadequate. I though it was going over-the-line to actually purchase any of this- but I collected as many "free" speed tips as I could find. My son finally penciled a design onto the wood and we worked together using all our new web info to finish the car. After a trip to the post office scale to get our weight just right, we boxed it up and I said a little prayer. The day of the race, I was committed to another event with my daughters, so my wife had derby duty. She eased my anxiety by saying things like, "Are you sure this car is going to win a race?"..."we better not be embarrassed!" I should never have told her the story about my dad's car. I called her cell phone at about the time things should have ended. As the busy volunteer "track manager", she sounded like she was in the middle of an airport and would only respond to me in short, hushed answers.How did it go?
...pause...
"good".
Did he win a race?....pause....
"yes".
How many did he win?
...long pause...
"all of them".
I started feeling guilty...maybe polished the axles too much? I felt some tears coming on.
After 30 years, the family name had been avenged. (and some people just don't get this).
Love that story. Share yours too, if you haven't already on the previous thread.
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Ah yes, the Pinewood Derby...
My Pinewood Derby experience was in the worst possible time and place. It was the mid-1970s in Southern California, and my father, along with all the other fathers in the neighborhood, was employed in the aerospace industry. For guys whose working life was spent making sure our astronauts made it safely home from space, the Pinewood Derby was a chance to show off what technology could do to a block of wood. My dad was pretty good with wood, his father having been an amateur violinmaker. Combine this with his experience as a tool-and-die maker before becoming an engineer, so there was very little chance I would be able to come anywhere near the car before completion, although I was allowed to help paint it.
He put everything he knew into that car. The body was sculpted to present the smallest possible frontal area. The axles were smoothed and graphited to within an inch of illegality. Much time was spent drilling holes into the bottom of the body, inserting tiny lead weights in the exact amount necessary to bring it up to the official weight limit, then planing off the bottom, sanding and painting it so the modification would be undetectable. Mom wasn't too happy, feeling that I was being told it was OK to stretch the rules. Still, I was thrilled. Dad was making me a car!
The day came, and I really couldn't tell much about the race. I think we came in second, behind a car made by a Caltech professor and his son. Dad was disappointed, but I didn't care. The red ribbon looked pretty good to me. He promised, though, that next year we'd win the blue one.
Next year never happened. He got sick, cigarettes and alcohol having taken their toll. We never had the chance to compete again. A couple years later, he died, and "our" car went into a shoebox, and into storage. I started adolescence, and the Pinewood Derby receded into a dim corner of my memory, a part of a childhood cut short by the sudden unwelcome intrusion of eternity.
Eventually, of course, I reached an age where it would have become my turn--but Mrs. Cerularius and I were not blessed with children. Perhaps it's just as well--like you, Rod, I'd be much better at something involving literature, the finer points of making a proper espresso, or reading European train schedules. But my younger brother inherited Dad's shop skills, and I'm pleased to say my nephews have acquitted themselves handsomely with their blocks of wood.
And now, I think I'll go dig out the car. I still have it. You see, ultimately, it isn't about kids learning how to carve, or about Dad showing up the other fathers, or any of that. It's about a father and a son, it's about time spent together, and it's about making a memory that will endure through the decades and beyond the separation that must inevitably come to all fathers and sons. In other words, it's about love.
Thanks, Dad.
Cerularius,
Thank you.
My son and I made a derby car this year. Some of the cars were clearly either made by parents or purchased off the internet. There was one that looked just like Optimus Prime from the movie, with flames and everything. Pretty cool, but I doubt that an 8 year old kid made it. Anyway, I noticed that most of the races were determined by how often a car bumped the side of the track. The cars that bumped the sides the least were the fastest, whereas cars that bumped the sides the most were the slowest. Our car's performance varied wildly, winning one heat and then not even finishing on another one. Eventually it resulted in a four-way tie for his den. So my tip is - if you can, try to pick the track that seems to be having the least amount of side-bumping going on.
Cerularius,
It's a beautiful memory you've got there. Sorry you lost your dad so young.
Rod,
Nuf Ced.
If you get that Dad and Son photo within a month, it still counts.
And . . . You could share -if you're so inclined.:)
Galileo Wins!
That's the title of my Pinewood Derby experience. My dad was not very handy, nor artistic, but he was a bright guy, Harvard & Harvard Business School. Our car was well made and not flashy and I arrived at the event with high hopes. I was immediately scared witless when I noticed that many of the other kids' cars had weights put on them to make them go down the track faster.
My dad was totally serene, he explained to me and the other dads that he'd learned at his Jesuit high school physics class that Galileo had proven that heavier things do not fall faster!
I don't remember if we came in first, but I do believe we got a ribbon, and we certainly did beat a lot of those weighted down cars! My dad seemed like a real hero to me and he showed how science and schoolwork can matter in "real" life. It is one of my great memories of my dad, I still miss him, dead almost 20 years. RIP
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