Pinewood Derby

The Boy Scouts of America. Growing up a Male Mormon in Utah you were pretty much required by law to participate. Being the indoorsy nerdy loner than I am, this is a prison sentence. It’s jail for people like me, only you don’t have to commit a crime to get put into it. Being black, I’m used to being punished for no reason.

For the most part, participating in Boy Scouts was easy. It usually involved showing up at church once a week and the materials for whatever the merit badge you were working on at the time would be there, instructions were more or less easy to follow, so you’d do the work and then you’d be let go at the end of your sentence. Again, it’s like prison. But then came the Pinewood Derby. For those who don’t know it’s essentially a downhill race using a wooden car that you made yourself. At least, that’s the spirit of the derby. In reality we’re all young adolescence so, just like your first science project, this is less something you worked on and more something that an adult did and you slapped your name on.

There’s a kit but it’s really not much. It’s a rectangle hunk of wood. You’d also get 4 plastic wheels and 4 nails. But you had to do all the wood work yourself. That’s an issue for me. My parents are from the city. Rio de Janeiro is about the size of L.A. So, not only were we city folk, we were immigrants to Utah. Whatever tools we may have had were left behind. Normally, at this point, you’d just ask someone you know for help. But dilemma #2 was that we were in a congregation filled with married college students. What tools did you have in your house at age 21, 22, 23, 24? Not a whole lot, certainly not what was required to cut this large chunk of wood into a car. So essentially everyone in this ward was asking someone they knew from “back home”, which in Utah means a few miles away or the next city over. So a couple in our ward knew someone else who had the tools to turn this block into a race car and they were kind enough to ask him to turn mine into something that could compete in the Pinewood Derby in addition to their son’s. Great. All I have left to do is wait for the results then throw on the paint job and I’m essentially done, aside from the competition.

I can’t remember how much time had passed. This was over 20 years ago. But, after the gentleman had finished working on both of the cars, the son of the couple invited me over to their place to pick up my brand new car. He was pretty excited to show me his car. And he had every reason to be excited. He had this snazzy looking Formula 1 type car.

My car was a hatchback. I want you to open up some tabs right now. Look up “Formula 1 Car” in one tab and “hatchback” in the other. That’s our 2 cars. “But Fel,” I can hear you say, “How can you complain about something you didn’t put any work into.” And that’s a fair thing to say. But keep in mind that he spent the same amount of time on his car that I did on mine. Why did he get something that not only looked better but was going to compete better as well? If you ever wonder what it’s like to be black in Utah, this is it right here.

So the night of the derby rolled around. We all showed up with our creations all cut and colored. The event was simple. The cars would race, 1v1, down a slope with a bit of a straightaway before reaching the finish line. That’s really the only way this can be done, since none of the cars are motorized (imagine if I had to do that! It would’ve been easier for me to write a computer program of a racing game than actually motorizing one of those wooden blocks). The track extended from one side of the room to the other, about 20 ft of road to race on. I have to admit, I got some jitters for my first race. I was kind of hoping to win. Imagine me, a gamer, winning something having to do with Boy Scouts. Granted, I didn’t do any of the work but just imagine the symbolism. So my opponent and I approach one end of the room, place our cars at the very tip top of the slope…then…patiently….wait…for…the…signaltoletthecarsgo! It’s a shot of adrenaline thrill, watching my Hatch go neck and neck down the slope. It’s just a moment for the on-lookers but, for the racers, each second is an eternity. There’s little you can do besides pray as each second slowly slips, watching your creation succumb to gravity and physics. At the end of the slope our cars are still tied. It was anyone’s game is what I thought. But I was wrong. My car slowed down while the other car pretty much kept the same. It crossed the finish line first as I watched my car come in second. When you’ve lost, that moment feels like a millennium. That’s fine. The way the competition is set up, one loss doesn’t mean much. You have a set number of races before pitting the best cars against each other. One loss isn’t the end. Though, I should have wished it was. Time and time, my car would be pitted against others and, again and again, I would lose. The Hatch would do alright down the slope but, as soon as it got to the bottom, it would slow down and the other car would over take it. It lost. Every. Single. Race. Hatchbacks just aren’t made for racing.

            “Can I see your car?” one of the Scout Masters approached me as I was picking up my car from the end of the track.

I handed it over and he asked likewise from my last opponent. He placed both cars back at the start of the slope though, this time, he did something I never thought to do. He put my car on backwards. He let them both go and the Hatch just took off. All the weight in the back ended up helping it not only gain more speed on the slope but also kept the momentum to the front afterwards, giving it the first win it would have that night. It makes sense, all that weight in the back wasn’t ideal for the slope and completely counter-intuitive on the straight away. So, I finally had the solution I needed to win….being given to me just a bit too late for it to be of any use for me. If only I figured things out for myself sooner, things could’ve been a lot different. It’s a lesson I find myself repeating to myself throughout my life.