Pinewood Derby

As an industrial designer and blueprint checker, part of my duties include knowing and calculating sectional densities of the materials used in fabrication i.e: weights of structural members (angle, channel, "I"-beam etc.) based upon their type (steel, stainless steel, aluminum), as well as checking lengths and sizes to insure that the assemblies will be strong enough for the tasks performed. There are programs that will calculate the stress and load, and my employer uses some good ones. One thing that is important is to make sure that we don't try to put "ten pounds of crap into a five-pound bag". In other words, if one part won't fit into another, it ain't gonna work. While at work recently, I was reflecting on how, again, Dad amazed me when I was young.
Bryan, my younger brother, was in Cub Scouts, and the famous "Pinewood Derby" was at hand: a father-son project aimed at bringing fathers and sons together to accomplish a goal. The project kit (available through your local scouting equipment seller) included a block of "pine wood", some plastic wheels, some nails and a few rules regarding minimum and maximum weight of the finished product (a race car). The Derby Project showcases Design (imagination, or "thinking outside the box"), Whittling skills (knife and tool safety), Patience (do it right the first time) and Diligence (finish what you start). Sadly (for some), it also showcases the amount of involvement of the parent/adult who "guides" and helps the boy. (More on this later).
Dad and Bryan developed a sketch for the car's profile and transfered it to the side of the wooden "block". They then cut away the excess material. They also had to decide upon a cross-section for the car, (how "fat or thin" the body would be) and start rounding the corners. From the side, the car looked similar to an airplane (go figure) with a "tail" that stuck up. From the front, it resembled a rounded brick. As the older brother and full-fledged Boy Scout, I suggested that the car have twin tailfins. That was my sole contribution to the project. The concept was adopted and implemented into the design. They cut and sanded a "groove" down the center of the tail, effectively giving the car a much more streamlined appearance (like a modern-day FA-18). Dad initially expressed concern about the removal of too much wood, because every splinter that was removed "lightened" the car by a milligram or two. But he had a solution for that, too. After the paint color had been decided upon, the nearly-completed car made yet another trip to the postal scales to see how far under the max gross weight it was. After ascertaining that amount, Dad figured out how many fishing weights (split shot sinkers) could be added to the car's body to bring it up to the desired weight. Now, here's the tricky part. In order to add weight to the car, a cavity had to be created for the weight to be placed in. If I were doing it now, I would drill a hole in the car, and put a plastic plug in the hole. I would then weigh the car, remove the plug, drop in the requisite number of weights and reinstall the plug. Easy solution, but potentially ineffective: shifting of the weights in the tubular cavity could move the center of gravity. So, the weights might have to be embedded in wax or glue. How much to use? Gotta figure in the weight of that, now. A solvable problem, and I am sure more than "team" used that method in one form or another. Dad's solution? Make a cavity, melt the lead sinkers, and pour the molten lead into the cavity. This way, the weight won't shift or rattle. What amazes me, now that I view this from an industrial designer's viewpoint, is that Dad had to figure out: the precise location of the car's center of gravity, the mass (weight) of the wood that had to be removed, the volume (area) of the wood removed, use these figures to modify the mass of the "ballast" required, the volume/sectional density of the lead. Additionally, Dad wanted to just "top off" the cavity, so that there wasn't a "hole" or "pile" showing on the car. End result? The molten lead came just to the surface of the cavity, the car was right at the target weight. The car was then painted, decals applied, and we waited for race day.
Race day arrived, finally, and we assembled at the Pack Meeting. All the cars were set out for pre-race display. This was where I felt embarrassed for another person for the first time. There were some awesome looking cars on display, testament to the involvement and dedication of the boys' fathers. And there were some "clunky-looking" cars as well: some 'cars' resembled painted bricks with rounded edges, and one poor kid had to display an unpainted, unmodified block of wood with wheels. The glue was probably still wet on the axles. I don't know who that car's owner was, but I felt bad for him. Granted, his father could have been overseas (this was, after all, an Air Force Base Cub Scout Pack), but couldn't SOMEONE have helped this kid with his project?
Anyway, our car did okay in the races. It wasn't "the winner", but then, "everybody there was a winner". They learned and experienced teamwork, and (most kids, anyway) spent "quality time" with their Dad. I am glad that my little brother got to do that a couple of times while he was in Cub Scouts. (And I am sure he has enjoyed the togetherness he has shared with his sons as he helped them with THEIR Pinewood Derby cars.) For my brother's humorous outlook on his first Pinewood Derby, go to http://www.imperfectparent.com/articles/not-your-fathers-pinewood-derby/675_1/. As for me, I am continually amazed and humbled by just how incredible Dad was at everything he did.