It was the pinewood derby last night. Do you know it? It is a scouting event that is the training ground for all competitive sport. It is boys who have that played-in smell wearing blue shirts, first crowded around a scale, then screaming their heads off as their dad-assisted car creations tear down the track to the crazy applause of parents and siblings. It’s trying hard to be happy about winning the award for “most decals” and deep soul-crushing despair and embarrassment that your hard work didn’t pay off quite as well as lucky tommy’s did.
I missed it. Because of school. But I can imagine it. It was all over my son’s face this morning as he exaggerated his losses and wouldn’t listen to reason or accolades about how proud I was he not only had the most decals but probably the most fun.
Tomorrow, it’s the mix-science-with-Easter-fun at school where the school janitor drops creatively cushioned eggs from the roof. He who has an intact egg at the end wins.
And my big man, the love of my life, has picked up where my 10-year-old dozed off, cushioning and creating and engineering the perfect egg protecting contraption from the approved materials. Because my big man doesn’t want to see my little man take two big blows in one week. Not if he can help it.
This, my friends, is why there is a Father’s Day – because big men understand when their little men need a bit of help and boy-oh do they ever give it. We’re down a dozen eggs and the counter is strewn with packing peanuts and rice crispies – the detritus of a father’s love.