This fact is most apparent in a little mother-humiliating exercise called the Pinewood Derby. Basically, you receive a square block of wood, a couple metal axles, four plastic wheels and instructions to turn said block of wood into a spiffy little race car.
For some people, that may be a fun challenge. I submit that those people are probably men, and most certainly have a garage full of power tools they use to do exactly that.
As you already know, I am not a man, and therefore the mere thought of transforming a block of wood into a race car is akin to creating a silk purse from a sow's ear. It's just not in my realm or any part of my universe. I simply looked at it and thought, "How the hell am I supposed to turn THAT into a car?"
If you think I'm being humble, consider last year's car. We had one day to shape and paint it, and here's what we came up with:
Yes, it's still a block. Yes, it's red, with blue glitter paint on it. Yes, it did have a Superman head glued on, so it looked like he was driving it (it's since fallen off). No, it didn't win any respect or any races, but it did win first place for creativity. (I credit Superman for that! And the glitter paint -- no other boy had that.)
This year, I was determined to do better by my son. I enlisted my dad, who's actually built Pinewood Derby cars before, and who was a wood shop teacher. I figured if he couldn't help, no one could.
I thought my dad would take Mark into the garage and emerge an hour later with a car. But I forgot that my father's a perfectionist, and that he's all about the details (skills Mark is completely unfamiliar with!). Instead, it took them almost two days to finish the car.
First, my dad gave Mark some Play-Doh to create a model of the car. My dad then drew the block on paper, and shaded lines to match the model, showing where he would cut the wood. It was pretty impressive.
My dad then took Mark into the garage. Sasha was visiting that day, and came rushing into the living room to tell me I had to come see something.
"Your dad is totally working Mark!" she cried. "He's sawing the car!" Now this I had to see.
Mark was indeed working hard on his car! He'd saw for a minute, then shake out his cramping hand, then saw another minute, then cough from the sawdust flying around. "Owww!" he'd say, shaking his hand, looking to Sasha and I for sympathy. My dad simply pointed to the car to make him focus.
Sash and I watched as long as we could without laughing. We escaped to the kitchen before we laughed out loud at poor Mark.
"I'm so glad Uncle Ralph's making Mark cut it, instead of using an electric saw," Sasha said. She told me a terrible story of her junior high shop class, where a girl cut off three fingers while using a table saw. "Who lets junior high kids use power tools?" she asked, appalled.
Just then, we heard the whir of a table saw in the garage! Sasha's eyes grew huge, and a horrified look spread across her face. "Uncle Ralph, what the hell!" she yelled, very concerned. We ran out to the garage together, where thankfully, my dad, not Mark, was using the saw.
Mark spent another hour sanding the car, and finally, my dad deemed it ready to paint. Mark thought my dad would hand him a can of paint, and Mark could spray away. He did not realize that painting, like everything else, comes with a lesson.
This time, my mom got involved, too. My dad showed Mark how to hold the can and spray evenly. My mom helped guide his hand as he sprayed two, then three, old egg boxes. Mark's from the Shortcut School of Learning, and was not much enjoying the structure.
Finally, my dad let him paint the car, and it turned out pretty good. I say "pretty good" because it was only the first coat. They let it dry and re-painted it three more times. Again, I was in awe of my dad's skills, and glad to have an expert around to help.
I think it was a really great experience for everybody involved (except maybe poor Sasha -- I think the table saw noise triggered some bad memories for her!). Mark got to hang out with my dad, my dad showed Mark patience and attention to detail, and I got a reprieve from the looks of pity when the other dads saw Marks glittery car. I would say it was an all-around win-win situation!
The only bummer was that we did, in fact, miss the Pinewood Derby, because we were in D.C. But I don't care -- we'll just use the car next year! And at least Mark now has one glitter-free car he can show off with his head held high.
2 comments:
You left out Mark manning the electric sander all by himself in the garage while your dad hopped into the kitchen for a break. Me feeling nervous at that point would be an understatement.
On a more positive note: SUPER impressed with the paint job. Way to go Marky!
Oh yeah, forgot about that! I guess I was just so excited he came away from the whole experience with all his fingers intact! :-)
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