At the ripe previous age of 11, I realized an necessary lesson from my father: While failure could be bitter, success could be extra so.
It was May 1968, and I used to be in sixth grade. I participated in an area Boy Scouts of America pinewood derby, a car-racing competitors held by native Cub Scout chapters. Boys, typically with a guardian’s assist, design and carve miniature wood vehicles, which race on sloped tracks, because the vehicles are powered by gravity alone. The quickest vehicles win trophies and ribbons, and there’s typically a separate award for finest design.
There was one drawback. As a bookworm who might barely hammer a nail, I had completely no expertise for any sort of carpentry or handiwork. Unlike me, my dad, a white-collar govt by day, cherished nothing greater than tackling a difficult home-improvement challenge in his off hours—one 12 months, he drywalled and paneled the basement, then put in a moist bar and an indoor swing. A Saturday with out a journey to the
Sears
device division was an anomaly in our home.
The arrival of the pinewood derby was a dream come true for my father. The rudimentary process of choosing the proper light-weight wooden and wheels was baby’s play for him. He actually outdid himself within the design. The miniature automotive my father conceived was half spider, half ant: the Spant. Dad carved the intricate physique of the hybrid bug with the ardor of Michelangelo within the Sistine Chapel. Fascinated however ineffective, I might solely watch in filial awe. The completed product—pink and black, modern and menacing—gained accolades from everybody who noticed it. Although it didn’t take first place within the race, the Spant crushed the competitors in each idea and execution. It simply snagged the best-design award.
On the night time of the derby, my father generously advised everybody that I used to be an equal companion within the creation of the Spant. I knew higher, and the kudos I obtained from my pals and their dad and mom left me feeling empty. Getting reward for another person’s expertise and arduous work appeared like stealing. The subsequent day, I made myself a promise: In all future endeavors, I’d depend on my skill alone. Even if that meant failing.
I by no means advised my father how I actually felt about our pinewood-derby journey. He by no means knew that he had taught me a useful fact: It’s higher to fail by yourself than to take credit score for one more man’s success.
Mr. Opelka is a musical-theater composer-lyricist.
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Appeared within the June 16, 2022, print version as ‘My Father’s Pinewood Derby Lesson.’
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