In this country, did you know that you need to be 18 years old, and meet a slew of other requirements (including some kind of background check) to even be eligible to take an animal home from the local animal shelter? This is to ensure the animal will be placed in a good home, be well taken care of, fed properly, etc., etc., etc. (call your local shelter to check the veracity of these statements). Yet every day, newborns are taken home from hospitals by parents who didn’t want them to begin with, have substance abuse problems, or are simply still children themselves. What chance do these children have? Who are their champions? Sadly, these newborns’ futures are pretty predictable.

Whenever I hear of another sickening story involving the aforementioned I find solace in parenting blogs, albeit a small number. Unfortunately, loving, being proud of, and caring for your children is not nearly as newsworthy as its alternative, otherwise, we’d all be celebrities.

If only all children could have the childhood they all deserve. If only deserving couples who, for whatever reason, are unable to conceive could take over the parenting of unwanted infants children. If only all children’s futures were as important as those of pets. If only.

My wife writes…

It’s horrible to hear about some of the things people do to each other, but even more heartbreaking when the victim is a child; somehow worse still when it’s their own child… These kinds of stories make me want to hold my own children close for a moment and say a little prayer of thanks.

You’re right, it does seem that sometimes we as a society care more these days about treating animals humanely than other humans. I’ve also often thought how ironic it is that you have to get a license to drive a car, after taking required classes that explain how to properly handle one and a test to show that you can do so successfully. Not the case with parenthood, and the end results are so much more important. If only there were some sort of license required to be a parent.

I find it heartening to talk with other people (whether in person or in a forum such as this) who are just trying to be the best parents they can be to children who, thankfully, will never understand exactly how lucky they are.

Snag some Hot Chocolate and cookies and get comfortable. This is going to be a long one.

Last year was my initiation into the world of Pinewood Derby Racing. I have waited all my life to be involved in this event. To me, Pinewood Derby is the embodiment of many things I hold dear in life, and it is a metaphor for everything that Scouts and Scouting should be - Craftsmanship, Sportsmanship, Camaraderie, Competitiveness, Honesty, Father/Son Togetherness and bonding and a host of other -ships’, -ness’ and -sty’s.

Craftsmanship and Father/Son Togetherness- you get to build something cool with your kid, and impart some of your knowledge and wisdom. How special is that?!

Sportsmanship and Competitiveness- The kids learn (or are supposed to) how to win and lose gracefully. Very important in my book.

Camaraderie and Togetherness -  All the scouts get to participate in something meaningful to them and see something they all built in action. Very exciting.

Honesty - Ah, honesty. I purposefully saved you for last.

First let me explain the "all my life". I was a scout as a child, but scouts in some other countries don’t have Pinewood Derbies. I always read about it in books and always wanted to be able to participate. Having a scouting age son was my ticket to participating in this "sport" vicariously through him.

Rewind one year:

When my son and I finally got the block of wood I struggled with how much I should let him do. There was the danger of power tools to be mindful of, but there was also the little kid in me that wanted so badly to build this thing. The parent in me won out. I designed a cool way to add and remove weight and installed it in the block of wood (at this point I feared I may have done too much and stepped back), and I coached and helped my son in the art of preparing axles and wheels, and had him design the car body himself. I sat him beside me and had him cut the block in the band-saw until the trickier parts. Then he sanded and decorated the vehicle himself. I was proud of him for doing a good job on his first car, and in myself for not taking over the whole operation.

On the day of the race my jaw dropped. Over half the cars there were clearly "NOT" the work of children. And when I say "NOT" I mean these things were detailed, polished, works of art. Not even a 12 year old could have made any of these beauties. The fathers there were not even hiding the fact that they completely built their son’s car for them. I looked at my son’s car and cringed.

Heat after heat of 4 car races occurred, and finally it was time for my son’s race. My heart sank. I knew what was in store. His creation, which he crafted with his own hands, and he decorated with care, came in at one of the the slowest times of the race. He turned around and looked at me with tears in his eyes. I felt his pain. Luckily we had discussed winning and losing all week that week, and I asked him to recall everything we had discussed. He dried his eyes, went back to the race and cheered his friends on. The race went on.

I sat in the stands and seethed. I saw all these fathers congratulating their sons, then turning around and high five-ing each other on a job well done. They even taunted each other "I’ll get you next year". It seems I was one of the few naive, "uninitiated", dads who still let their son build his own car.

Here’s the kicker. There was also a race called the "Geezer’s Race" for parents to curb the vicarious behavior, build and race their own cars, and allow the kids to build their own vehicles. Some fathers built both cars, and in a weird twist one dad ran his son’s car in the geezer race, and the son ran the father’s as his own.

I couldn’t wait to get out of there. There were awards, upon awards. 1st place overall etc., 1st place in age group etc., 1st place in den etc., best looking, best design, etc., etc., etc. Some kids were called up numerous times, for numerous different awards. All the while my son clapped for them enthusiastically. I was so proud of him. Then his name was called. We all looked at each other in surprise. I held him back to make sure it was him they wanted. They called his name again. I sent him up to see what it was about. They announced that he got the "Good Sportsmanship Award".

My First thought: "Somebody saw me seething and decided they better do something". I’m not subtle when I seethe.

My Second thought: "Maybe in this gaggle of cub scouts and parents someone was actually paying attention to my son’s actions."

My Third thought, in response to the first thought: (and this one embarrasses me): "Screw them, he deserves it. He built his own car, which is more that I can say about all you jackasses."

Fast forward 1 year:

So, Back to honesty. Do I want a repeat of last years fiasco? Do I want to teach my son how to lose some more? Do I build his car for him and give him a fighting chance at feeling false pride in actually placing and winning a trophy? Do I sink to the levels that the other fathers have?

We take possession of his block of wood and wheels next week for the January 19, 2008 Pinewood Derby.  I’ve got until then to figure this out.

Our country, as advanced as it is, is so plagued with bureaucracy that it is affecting our kids’ learning. Public school classes will retard a whole class’ pace for the one child that can’t learn at the same rate as all the other kids. This seems wrong to me. You’re probably going to see a rhythm, or common thread, every time I get on these soapboxes, so I might as well just spill the beans. I worry about the direction this country is headed, and I worry for the future of our children, educationally, spiritually and morally. This country’s lackadaisical attitude towards learning is a co-culprit in all this.

My son is kid number 2 for me, but is really my first exposure to the school system since daughter#1 lives with my ex-wife. His teacher told me that spelling is not something they focus on at this point (2nd grade), but that they would do it in later grades. That tweaked me a little bit. If they learn the wrong way first, chances are they’ll never learn the right way. At least that’s how it is for me personally. My wife and I take great pains in raising our kids, and as a result our son has great diction, and great language skills. I am proud to say that he is at a 4th grade reading and comprehension level. We don’t sit him down and use Gestapo learning tactics (directional bright light in a dark room), we simply converse with him without using baby talk, or using non-words, like ain’t. The results are phenomenal.

I know that the teachers in this country are grossly underpaid, specially for the task of helping us raise and teach, our children, but I have to take issue with the amount of in-service days, and general days off scheduled in the school year. If anyone reading this is a school teacher, or knows the answer, please explain to me what goes on during an in-service day.

Just a little bit of personal wisdom, "Spel Chek"(sic) is just a tool, not something to stake your reputation on.

After the grownups had dessert and people started packing up Pyrex dishes, the task of mobilizing the troops for the ride home began. Costumes were haphazardly tossed in crumpled brown paper bags, and the clutter slowly began to disappear. When I told my son to grab his pumpkin shaped treat bag I noticed there was barely any candies in it and I began questioning him as to the whereabouts of the rest of his stash. Before he could answer I looked at my nephew’s goodie bag and his was overflowing. I remembered them counting each of their spoils after they dumped their loot on the floor and there was only one candy’s difference between them. I knew exactly where all my son’s stuff had gone.

My infamous temper got the better of me, and soon the whole house heard me chewing both kids out for different reasons, and all the while my son kept saying it was OK and that these were all the candies he wanted. My wife came over to calm me down. With quick, violent, purposeful moves I gestured to my eyes with my pointer and index finger, then spun my wrist around and pointed my 2 fingers at my nephew, and said “I’m watching you!”, then went back to packing.

Since my wife and I drove 2 separate vehicles we split the kids up. She took my infant daughter, and I took my son. She whispered to me, “Go easy on him”, before she got in her car and drove off to the store to pick up some groceries before coming home.

As my son and I drove home I questioned him about what went on in the house and he explained matter-of-factly. “Dad, I gave my cousin some candy, hoping that he would want to give some back (reciprocate), but he just kept taking and taking. It’s OK though”, he said, “because I didn’t give away any of the candy I like”. I sat quietly, digesting what he was telling me. “Besides, candy is bad for me anyway, and I shouldn’t have that much of it, so I just kept the stuff I really wanted.” I explained to him that that is not how barter works, and I asked him why he told me things were OK in the house. “I didn’t want my cousin to get in trouble” he said.

I stared thoughtfully into the night as we drove home in silence the rest of the way. Defending and protecting someone who just hoodwinked you; What a concept!

We got home, and I had him take a shower to wash off the costume’s hair spray from his head. When he was done showering I cuddled with him on the couch as we watched the last bits of a TV show. I then kissed him goodnight, told him I loved him and was proud of him, then sent him off to bed.

He’s growing up, and fast. He might have gotten the “Trick” instead of the “Treat” this year, but I’ll be damned if I would have wanted it to have concluded any other way.