Member-only story
Cheating at The Pinewood Derby
My first ethics lesson.
The loose links of the chain clinked as the old wooden swing creaked back and forth. I pushed with my legs just enough to avoid sending the swing into the vines, crawling up the lattice on the back side of the carport.
A thin layer of sawdust accumulated at my feet as my hand brushed back and forth over the surface of the small pine block.
For weeks, I sanded and polished my pinewood derby car. Like the bat mobile, I carefully sanded a tailwind in the center. Once I finished sculpting, it had the lines of a 1940s hotrod. It was elegant and beautiful. All it needed was a ruby red paint job to accentuate its beauty.
She was a work of art. I painted the rear of her tail fin orange, giving her the auspicious number five. She was a refined piece of beauty that I poured hours into crafting.
The day of the derby came, and we all assembled at the church where the Boy Scouts chapter met.
I carried her pridefully into the event, unwittingly stepping into the lion's den. A slither of doubt had implanted a week earlier when I showed my car to my cousin, a fellow boy scout. My uncle, a former Eagle Scout, always took a point when it came to making my cousin’s Pinewood derby cars.
