The Pinewood Derby

I grew up in the suburbs of Long Island, New York, in the 1970s, just minutes from the salty beaches and bays of the Long Island Sound. I was lucky to have parents who kept my brother and me busy. Very busy. Busy enough, they hoped, to keep us out of trouble.

Not that I was much of a troublemaker anyway. I was a rule-follower as a kid, so my mom probably did a lot of worrying for nothing. (Sorry, Mom!)

One of the many activities they signed us up for was Cub Scouts, and later, Boy Scouts. If I search my memory for Cub Scouts around ages nine or ten, there’s really just one image that stands out clearly: the Pinewood Derby.

That little race looms large in my memory because it may have been my first real introduction to woodworking, a tiny seed that would later grow into a lifelong love of craftsmanship in wood.

For the uninitiated, the Pinewood Derby involved a bunch of Cub Scouts turning simple blocks of pine into miniature race cars. We hand-cut, carved, sanded, painted, and stickered them to life. The wheels were attached with nails for axles, and we coated them with graphite lubricant to make them spin just a bit faster. Speed was everything. Weight mattered, too; where you placed it, how much you used. Even at that age, we were learning physics without realizing it.

One of my cars was bright red. I think another one was black… or maybe blue. I wish I still had one of them. It would be fun to see it now, decades later, preserved like a tiny artifact of childhood. Every year, the cars raced down a sloped track, powered only by gravity, and the fastest car won. The Pinewood Derby was easily the biggest, and most fun event of the year.

I remember my dad helping me in our basement workshop, surrounded by tools he had inherited from his dad and my mom’s dad. Some of those tools are still with me today, living in my own tool chest. Others, sadly, are gone for various reasons. But the memory of working side by side with him is still crystal clear.

This was the 1970s, there was no internet, no AI, no personal computers. Inspiration came from books and magazines, and from watching and learning by doing. It was a different time. A good time.

When we’re kids, we’re always in a hurry to grow up; to be older, bigger, stronger, more adult. Funny how that works. Years later, what I have now are the memories. And for those, I have my parents to thank.

Mom, rest assured: Steve and I loved our childhood. We’re grateful for everything you and dad gave us. You did it right. I wouldn’t change a thing.

We were lucky. 💛