My childhood experience at the Boy Scout Pinewood Derby may have been a turning point in my life. I honestly think that is where I first learned (or at least started to learn) the harsh realities of competition in a society obsessed with competition. My brother and I had worked harder than most third graders to get our cars ready for the big day and approached the event with excitement and optimism. My dad had assured us that sanding the rectangular pieces of balsa wood so that the car was as "aerodynamic" as possible was the key to wining the race. I remember sanding the wood for what seemed like hours and presenting the metamorphosing piece to my father only to be told that it wasn't yet good enough. I would resentfully take the piece back outside and continue to work with the fine sandpaper my father had purchased from the local hardware store. We finally painted the car a nice sparkling purple. My brother's car was a barn-house red and was fashioned into the same dull point on wheels as mine. We had not taken the time to make sure that the cars were even remotely close to the proper weight (a heck of a lot more important that aerodynamics, Dad). My only solace was that my brother's car finished dead last out of a pack of about 200 kids. At least I had beaten someone. I remember the other kids snickering and my brother's hangdog look as the lady that was presenting the awards said "just so nobody goes home with nothing [I guess the most couth the redneck woman could muster], we have a participation ribbon for Van Wurm..." My brother later took the car into the back yard and mutilated it just to get back at my father.

In the quarter of a century since that fateful competition I knew that our society had only gotten more crazed with competition and was much more kid-centric than it was in the 70's, but I figured that the "Christian" version of the Boy Scout tradition that our church offered for the youth would be much more tame. As a father, I approached the event determined to keep my son from suffering through the humiliation of a poor performance in the competition, but with what I imagined to be a healthy balance of sportsmanship. Besides, the brochure for the AWANA Grand Prix said that the emphasis was on the parents and kids having a great time together building the car- not on competition like the "secular pinewood derby". I designed a nice streamlined car and loaded it with lead to exactly the right weight. My son and I then spray-painted the thing a reflective metallic gold. My internet research had revealed that sanding the axles and wheels, then adding graphite for lubrication would make it faster. I honestly thought that just having the right weight would be enough to make it compete well enough for such a blithe competition (I was using my childhood half-weight block on wheels for reference and I had believed the brochure). My wife had assured me that the year before she had seen fathers hurriedly taping pennies onto the cars just before the race and that the competition would be lame. I was sold easily on this by recounting the same scene from childhood in which all the fathers and sons (besides us) busily did the same thing just before the Pinewood Derby. The night before I struggled with whether or not I should sand the wheels and lubricate the axles, but decided I would look like a jerk if I did such a thing. I also thought that it would be a good idea to let my five-year old decorate the car however he liked- besides the "design" judges would easily recognize that my son had not had a part in painting it and he would have no chance to win that portion of the competition, right? Sure. So I let him do whatever he liked as long as there was some sort of "Christian" theme- another component of design award. He proudly and clumsily painted a red cross on the hood with kindergarten finger-paint. He further adulterated it with stickers and decals. It looked exactly like something a five-year-old would do.