Pinewood Derby Mayhem

The Pinewood Derby race that my Cub Scout boys participated in recently was a HOOT! I think you'll really get a kick out of this when you hear what happened. But, before I tell you about it, you need a little context to really capture the spirit of the event.

Earlier this year, my brother, Brian, really got into the Cubscout Pinewood Derby that his boy participated in. He called me several times to ask me questions about how to wire up his car. I said "wire it up?" He said "yeah...I want to install headlights! Wouldn't that be COOL!!" I said "Yeah, but Brian...who is building this car? You or your son, Apollo?" We got a good laugh.

However, over the course of the next two or three days, I got frequent updates from him on his progress. He wasn't going to work or doing anything else but building this car! We couldn't believe how much time he was dedicating to it.

And, it appeared as if he really was building the car instead of his son. After awhile, Apollo lamented to a fellow cub scout who replied and said "I can't wait till I'm a Dad so I can build a pinewood derby car." Ha! Not really, but we teased him a lot about it.

When he finished the car, he sent an e-mail with the following poster attached to it:



We couldn't believe he took the time to not just make the car but to create a poster too! Wow!! Finally, the day of the race came. The events as described by Brian were pretty entertaining:




Let me see if I can put into words what a humbling experience last night turned out to be. Something about a bunch of 9-10 year olds beating the pants off of you and your son that just doesn't sit well.

We pulled into the gym parking lot at 5:55 pm, dad ignited the car, all systems were go. We stepped into the line to weigh our cars and Apollo's weighed in at 5.1 oz. That's .1 ounce past the limit and they said "That's OK!" The Pinewood Derby God's were shining down on us tonight! I looked over at what was to be our crowning moment when we passed through the finish line with thoughts of confetti shooting from the crowd as our brilliant car dominated not only looks, but took 1st place in speed each time. Suddenly I had a Finding Nemo moment when the beautiful light turned into an Angler fish about to kill me! Good Feeling Gone! I noticed the track had a very wide looking spacer running down the middle of each track to keep the cars in their lanes and it seemed to be mocking me. Being the unshaken father I am, I asked Apollo to bring his car over so daddy could take a look at it. I placed it on the track and to my horror I see that Apollo and I counter sunk the wheels too far and the car wouldn't fit on the track! SON OF A... I quickly darted out to the truck to grab my tool box to see what kind of magic I could perform in about 3 minutes.

I wiped the rain from my brow and surveyed each tool that was at my disposal. All at once they seemed to cry out "Don't look at me man. You're the idiot who put us in this situation!" Ahhhh... I had to carefully rip the axels out of place and grab some nails to replace them. To my surprise, the axels had made the holes in the wood so big, the nails couldn't grip and the car was suddenly dead in the water! The only tool I could possibly think to use with the time constraints was Duct Tape. Nice. I always associated duct tape with speed and fluidity. I crammed, jammed and worked duct tape into the holes hoping to create enough grip to hold on to the wheels. With a little prayer and a lot of hope we re-entered the gym to begin the race. (meanwhile, my beautiful wife Cora was filming the entire ordeal so we could show our future posterity how quickly daddy could work under pressure and make something fantastic at a moment's notice. She was so proud of the husband she had married, the father who would raise their son to new heights, blah, blah, blah...)

The first race came and Apollo was eager to position the car everyone was watching onto the track. He had such a smile on his little face. The older kids ran to the end of the track to see how their car faired but Apollo wanted to run with his car cheering and encouraging it all the way down the track hoping for a new course record! The countdown started... 3... 2.. 1! The cars took off like a shot! Each one moving forward, then back, then forward again... A quick glance over to dad showed him praying like he's never prayed before. Was he praying to win? To dominate the other kids maybe? No. Dad was painfully praying that the duct taped wheels would not fall off. But he didn't show it. Stone cold was the look on his face.

The finish line was broken, the crowd cheered and a dad sat silently thanking his Father in Heaven that the car held together long enough to pass the finish line even if it was in last place. Apollo didn't quite see it the same way however. He was stunned that all of his work, blood, sweat and tears were suddenly being washed away with the emotions of failure. "It couldn't be", he thought. He grabbed his car and ran back to the starting box and placed his car in the next track. Naturally, he assumed his car was stuck in the slow track last time. 3... 2.. 1! and the cars tore off again! This time, similarly to the first, Apollo's car was slower than the rest... so much so, that it didn't even pass the finish line. Like Happy Gilmore, dad almost found himself lying on the floor yelling at his car to finish the stupid race when suddenly a small boy tapped it through the digital checkered flag. Laughter ensued. ENOUGH IS ENOUGH... THE GLOVES ARE COMING OFF!

I snatched up the car and politely asked the officials for a 5 minute pit stop. They continued racing the other cars while daddy pulled out his drill motor, tore off the wheels and began to dismantle the awe inspiring vehicle. With adrenaline now replacing blood I drilled 4 new holes. My heart was beating and aching so badly I could hardly see straight. I could hear the roars and cheers from others as their cars performed admirably. Normally, you need to tap your tires on with a hammer, but the adrenaline was flowing so steadily that my thumb was all I needed. I ran a quick test across the table only to notice that at any given time only 2-3 tires would touch. "Perfect!" This means less friction! I hoped. Fools! They thought they'd be able to keep Apollo and I out with their ticky tacky track when suddenly we created the greatest racer of all!

The crowd was on the edge of their seats to see what Apollo's dad was able to do to salvage their racer in time of need. Apollo gently placed his car in the starting blocks and waited for the countdown. It was so quiet you could almost hear a pin drop! The boy, now turned man through the trials he faced this evening briskly walked to the finish line hoping for what he envisioned as the greatest comeback in the history of Pinewood Derby racing. 3... 2.. 1 announced the officials. The crowd fell silent as the little yellow car that couldn't pass the finish line raced down the track...again and again and again. With each failed attempt, Apollo appeared more and more devestated. Yet, he dutifully ran his car back to the beginning each time with enthusiasm and a hopeful look as if, somehow...magically, the result would be different the next time.

The icing on the cake of this whole disaster was when the mother of a fellow scout called me the next day to express consolation. In an effort to cheer me up, she told me how grateful she was for Apollo's participation; because of Apollo's car, her son's car was not the slowest on the track. Are you kidding me!!??

After spending hours and hours making the car look cool, we discovered that the most important factor when building a Pinewood Derby car is speed. If your car is fast, it doesn't matter much what it looks like!

Only 364 days left until we unveil our new car which we will so eloquently refer to as "Redemption".

Sincerely,

Brian Oaks

Stay tuned because the saga continues...wait until you hear what happened to "Redemption!"

Outliers: The Story of Success

Surprisingly, I didn't receive a reply to the e-mail that I included in my last blog post. But, several days later, I did receive an e-mail that was sent to all the coaches. The message included instructions on how to be a great coach. An emphasis was made on the playing time policy of the league. I was pleased to see that they took action to make this a better experience for the children.



Our whole family (all 7 of us) and some extended family and friends went to Carson's next game to cheer him on. Normally, just Kathy or I go to his game. Carson was so excited that such a large crowd came to see him play. We all cheered him on like crazy and he played great!



His sister Brennah (right) and his cousin Marissa (left) surprised (and embarrassed) him with a sudden kiss when Kathy took this picture. He was so cute. We were so pleased to see him play and have fun and do so well!

Amazingly, I read something fascinating about this very topic just recently. We have a reading program at DVO that is designed to help each employee grow and develop and to help our company provide a better product and service to our customers. Each employee who does the weekly reading assignment gets to go to lunch with me. At lunch, we discuss what we read (and usually have a really good time too!). Since I'm paying for lunch, I get to choose the book.

This month, I chose Malcolm Gladwell's book "Outliers: The Story of Success." After what happened at soccer with Carson, I was fascinated by what I read. In the beginning of the book, Malcolm makes a shocking observation regarding the birth month of successful hockey players in Canada. About 80% of the boys on Canadian hockey teams are born in the first three months of the year. He says:

"The explanation for this is quite simple. It has nothing to do with astrology, nor is there anything magical about the first three months of the year. It’s simply that in Canada the eligibility cutoff for age-class hockey is January 1. A boy who turns ten on January 2, then, could be playing alongside someone who doesn’t turn ten until the end of the year—and at that age, in preadolescence, a twelve-month gap in age represents an enormous difference in physical maturity.

This being Canada, the most hockey-crazed country on earth, coaches start to select players for the traveling “rep” squad—the all-star teams—at the age of nine or ten, and of course they are more likely to view as talented the bigger and more coordinated players, who have had the benefit of critical extra months of maturity. And what happens when a player gets chosen for a rep squad? He gets better coaching, and his teammates are better, and he plays fifty or seventy-five games a season instead of twenty games a season like those left behind in the “house” league, and he practices twice as much as, or even three times more than, he would have otherwise.

In the beginning, his advantage isn’t so much that he is inherently better but only that he is a little older. But by the age of thirteen or fourteen, with the benefit of better coaching and all that extra practice under his belt, he really is better, so he’s the one more likely to make it to the Major Junior A league, and from there into the big leagues.

Barnsley argues that these kinds of skewed age distributions exist whenever three things happen: selection, streaming, and differentiated experience. If you make a decision about who is good and who is not good at an early age; if you separate the “talented” from the “untalented”; and if you provide the “talented” with a superior experience, then you’re going to end up giving a huge advantage to that small group."

He continues...

"Do you see the consequences of the way we have chosen to think about success? Because we so profoundly personalize success, we miss opportunities to lift others onto the top rung. We make rules that frustrate achievement. We prematurely write off people as failures. We are too much in awe of those who succeed and far too dismissive of those who fail. And, most of all, we become much too passive."

I am so fascinated by this book! And, after my last blog post and the letter that I wrote to the President of the local soccer league, I worried that I had over-reacted. However, when I read this part of Malcolm Gladwell's book, I was encouraged and I felt validated (and a little relieved too). I'm glad I stood up for my boy Carson and all the other younger and "less talented" boys in the league who have been getting less playing time and an inferior experience.

We haven't finished this Outliers book yet but we're really enjoying it and looking for more good books to read. If you have any suggestions, please let me know!