The Boy Scouts' Annual Pinewood Derby and It's Scientific Implications

Given that we encourage procrastination in our children (leading by example), my son started on his derby car for the Boy Scouts' Annual Pinewood Derby about 4 days ahead of time. Of course, he had been given 6 months to prepare, but we jump at any opportunity to add extra stress to our lives. He needed a measure of adult supervision since creating the car involved saws and a molten lava-metal substance. After settling on the design, the car had to be painted, the lava had to be melted to weight the car, a few details were added, and Badda Bing, the car was finished.

Never having attended one of these races before, I didn't know what to expect. I just assumed all the cars would look about the same. We walked into the church basement, guided by the troop leader to the room where the "weigh-in" occured. "Wow, I wouldn't have eaten lunch if I knew we were going....oh, you mean the car? My bad."

While standing in line for Life and a Day, we watched Mr. Troop-Dad handle each car with the delicacy of a surgeon performing a heart transplant, laying each car upon the kitchen scales as if one slight error could commence the onset of a catastrophy having ripple effects that would cause the nuclear codes to spontaneously activate themselves, launching every missile ever built at multiple locations across the world, thereby ending life on earth as we know it.

After placing a car on the scale, Mr. Troop Dad slowly removed his hands and took a deep breath, exhaling quietly as he watched the needle swing back and forth between 2 and 6 ounces. Not wanting to prematurely quote a weight, he had to be sure the needle was perfectly still, inspecting it with an intensity rivaled only by the bulge-eyed guy in Florida who inspected hanging chads. The results of our weigh-in were indentical to my weigh-in each morning: too heavy. This verdict determined we would move on to "The Pit", although I secretly thought it looked very similar to a Pre-K Sunday School classroom.

In The Pit, the "Crew Chief" had what I thought to be a needle. Maybe he had started and finished a quilt while waiting for Mr. Troop Dad to weigh all the cars. I was wrong, however. The "needle" was a precision drill that allowed the dried molten lava-metal to be removed by nano-ounces, in order to get as close as possible to the maximum weight without going over, like a Boy Scout version of "The Price is Right". Then, back to the weigh-in room where we would be in line long enough for the pinewood to fossilize.

I was so amused at the serious demeanor these guys had, that I never actually paid attention to the other cars. Finally, I walked into the room with the race track, prepared to look interested in the race while mentally composing my grocery list. "I think we're out of milk. Do we need toilet paper? Oh, and don't forget the.....wha...WHAT is that? That car belongs in a museum. Is this a joke? Where is Jeff Gordon? Where is Dale, Jr.? Did they commission NASCAR drivers to design and build that car?" At this point I scanned the room, noting that all the cars were just as impressive. Apparently, it never crossed anyone's mind (except mine) that the Boy Scouts' Annual Pinewood Derby would be raced with cars that the Boy Scouts had created. Man Scouts had built these cars!

I should have noticed something was awry when my son was the only one permitted to touch his car. I saw one little guy try to peek at his car before the race, so he could at least know which car was "his". He wasn't three feet from it when a group of ninjas parachuted down from the ceiling, covered his head with a burlap sack and hand-cuffed him with duct tape. Once they made sure the lock on the closet was secure, they assured his dad that little Bobby would no longer be an issue and thanked him for choosing Blackwater, Inc. for his security needs. After asking around, I learned that this is standard procedure at a pinewood derby, and by the way, did I remember to turn off my cell phone -- it can interfere with the ninjas' headsets.

The rest of the night was fairly uneventful, save for one little nugget, which I will tell you about shortly. What I took from that night was a desire to sift out a scientific explanation behind the display of events like this one. There, hunched over my tiny desk lit with a single candle, I developed what is sure to be one of the most important scientific breakthroughs since Einstein's Theory of Relativity.

Einstein's little formula is E=mc². I've reworked that equation to reflect what was going on that night at the derby. The new formula is EC=M² . What does this mean? Everything (E) my Child does well (C) is (=) because of Me (M) except if I was actually doing it right now, it would be exponentially better (squared). Think about the pageant moms, the cheerleader moms, the soccer dads, and the science projects dads you know. I'm not talking about the ones who encourage their kids to a reasonable degree and give them a helping hand when needed. I'm talking about the psychos who come close to bursting a blood vessel if little Sammy throws a double play when it's theoretically possible he could have thrown a triple. My theory makes pure common sense and would, no doubt, stand up under the most acute scientific scrutiny.

Back to derby night. As I sat there watching each car pass my son's car on the track, I beamed with pride inwardly while meditating on the fact that I wasn't like all the other parents there. My ego wasn't so fragile that I had to spend 6 months creating a Smithsonian-worthy replica of a car just so all the other dads could see how awesome I must have been in 10th grade. No. Even though my son may not win the race, at least he is authentic, and at least my husband and I are authentic parents who let their children glory in their own accomplishments.

I was jarred back to reality when they announced the winners of the "artistic" category. MY SON received first place! Aha! Proof that races really aren't just about winning and losing. I was ready to leave the derby now, my son the winner of the best prize. It was a moral victory! Of course, most of the other parents had a look of shock and disgust on their faces: THAT car is first in the artistic category? It's black with some gray stripey stuff here and there -- and the stripes aren't even -- and this kid can't even paint within the lines!! MY kid should have gotten the artistic prize. I had Jimmy Johnson's Graphics Expert over for a week while he completed my car ...... I mean, my kid's car! That kid's car looks like something done at craft time at Vacation Bible School.

I guess the announcer must have seen the confusion on the faces of those harsh, overly-ambitious parents. He cleared his throat and sheepishly announced, "Um, we awarded the artistic prize, of course, to those cars whose design and paint job were obviously performed by a child -- not by parents or a professional staff. This is the Boy Scouts, and we reward the participation of our boys."

My parents are very involved, loving grandparents. They had attended the derby to see their grandson compete. As we walked away from the room, back down the hall, and out of the church's basement doors, my mom noticed I looked a little faint. "What's wrong, Sweetie?" she asked. I had a knot in my stomach and my ego was somewhere crushed beneath the gravel in the parking lot.

I had built and painted my son's entire car.