December was always a special month when I was serving as Cubmaster of Pack 85 in Morton. At our December pack meeting in the Jefferson School cafeteria, Santa Claus himself would visit with a bagful of neatly wrapped little packages, one for each of the delighted Cub Scouts.

It was the kick-off of a phenomenon that is still one of the highlights of the Cub Scout calendar: Pinewood Derby.

I built and raced Pinewood Derby cars when I was in Cub Scouts in Minier more years ago than I care to admit. But it was nothing like the Pinewood Derby mania that later gripped Scouts and their parents in January.

Each of those Christmas packages contained a small block of wood, four silver nails, four plastic wheels, and unlimited potential. The challenge was to cut and shape that block of wood and wheels into a sleek racer to run down a 32-foot wooden track in competition with other cars in each age group. There were rules about how heavy and how long the car could be, how the wheels could be modified, and how much help adults could give to their blue-uniformed boys. The rules were meant to make certain factors equal, knowing that subtle intangibles would separate the fastest cars from the pack.

Back in the 1990s, there was nothing “equal” about building a Pinewood Derby car. Much depended on the skills, tools, patience, and enthusiasm of the father or mother, uncle, neighbor, or grandparent who stepped in to help. This was in the early days of the internet, which was bursting with sites offering tips on everything from the shape of the car to the location of added weight and the polishing of axles. But even meticulously following the proven performance standards didn’t guarantee a winner.

I helped my three boys build dozens of Pinewood Derby cars. It was a wonderfully rewarding activity to do together with them, just father and son (sadly, there were no girls in Cub Scouts at that time) doing our best to be competitive, but not taking it too seriously. Win or lose, doing your best and being a good sport were the lessons to be learned.

Some approached the Pinewood Derby challenge with what I would consider unhealthy zeal, and although some of those cars ended up champions, I often wondered if the Scout or the adult should receive the trophy. A 2005 movie called “Down and Derby” showed what happens when Cub Scout dads get a little too competitive. 

Last spring, my boys and their spouses spent a day helping me clean up, sort, and dispose of some of their childhood “stuff.” Along with old magazines, school projects, clothing, and empty video game boxes, they were confronted with what to do with a dozen or more Pinewood Derby cars and trophies. While I expected that they might be consigned to the trash bin like many other items that didn’t survive the day, not one of the cars was tossed. Each was taken down from its shelf, dusted, and put back in its place. There were just too many good memories to let them go.

I don’t know how Cub Scouts receive their Pinewood Derby kits today, and I haven’t been to a race in years. But memories of times together in the basement with my Cub Scouts cutting, sanding, painting and fine-tuning our little racers are still vivid in my mind. I wouldn’t trade them for the world.

Ladies and gentlemen, start your engines, and Scout On!

Scott Fishel wears several hats in Scouting, including a longtime association with Troop 178 and Troop 1178 in Morton. You can contact him at [email protected]. Find a Scout unit in your community at beascout.org.