I chronicled our first experience with this event last year (albeit 11 months late) in “ The price of winning“.

This year’s Pinewood Derby has come and gone. I promised myself not to get too worked up over the inequalities that were glaringly blatant like I did last year. My blood pressure stayed under control, and I actually managed to have a good time. I did notice however that the attendance this year was almost cut in half. I’m wondering if the missing families let the unfairness get to them.

Wave after wave of races occurred. Children won, children lost. There were poor losers and even poorer winners. I watched as a child threw a tantrum because he came in 4th place over all (yes, I said OVER ALL!). He wanted to be first. His mom just let him scream his little head off.

I watched my son and his races and we cheered him on. Although his car was much faster than last year’s, he didn’t place at all, but his vehicle speeds were right in the middle of the pack. This didn’t bother him in the least. He was just happy to be with his friends, and was genuinely happy for them when their cars did well. I was enjoying his outlook.

My son’s Den Leader was absent, and I ended up being the de-facto Den Leader for the day. One of my duties was to find a “Best Sportsmanship” recipient from my son’s den. My son had that one hands down again, but I couldn’t bring myself to put him in for it, since I was acting Den Leader. It just didn’t seem right. I watched all the other kids and found a suitable alternate, and moved on.

I watched intently as the names, scores and standings went up on the projection screen. No surprises there. Same kids (parents) from last year. I overheard the winner’s dads chatting about how one of them had the track set up in his shed for months, and how one of the other dads had their cars built midyear last year. I rolled my eyes and went about my business. I congratulated my son on his outlook, and how much better his car did this year. He was happy.

In the weeks before the race we spent time in our freezing garage using all my power tools to build his racer. He designed his own car (nothing elaborate, but still his own), and was genuinely interested in the build process this time. He got the thrill of using dad’s uber-dangerous, appendage ripping, widow making tools. I got to keep my sanity. We both had a good time. I’m chalking this derby up as a win for both he and I.