Friday, May 15, 2009

Soapbox Derby winner has uphill battle


On the obstacle course of life, it's the hurdles that get you where you need to go. Swerve around them, and you miss a flight into the finer things life has to offer. In the case of the Southeast Texas Soapbox Derby race, staying the course on the straight and narrow is the way to win. And that's how Axle, a little boy with heart, placed third with more obstacles than his mother thought were possible to zig zag. But she — I, was proven wrong.


Two years of tinkering with washers, wheels, axles (the car parts), bearings and weights had brought them closer as a father and son team. This year, they planned to think more on the science of the weight of the car versus the slope of the hill and the wind and things this mom doesn't "get." But an emergency trip to take care of 'Grandma in Ohio' took dad, Jeff, out of the race. Axle kept his chin up but I know what he was thinking, no dad, no race.


Time to opt out  This mom's understanding of things mechanical will certainly be a hindrance to the boy. "No," said his sponsor "It's an experience he will remember the rest of his life." True enough. And sponsor Tom Flanagan and his family offer to mentor and support him. We're back in the race. With Jeff in Ohio, I am now a single, working mom with a derby car to maneuver.


Does the steering work? Turn it left, turn it right. Yep, seems to work. Do the brakes work? Step on 'em. Yep, seem to work. Now to the polishing and lettering. Lots of polishing. Look isn't mom good at this, isn't that car shiny, I say to myself. Weighing in, we collect our car number — thirteen.


"Look Axle, lucky thirteen! Thirteen is so lucky, buildings in Las Vegas won't allow floors to be numbered thirteen."


Off to the practice run. Crash! Right into the rail of the Maurey Myers Bridge! Vertigo sets in at the thought of Friday night traffic on the Interstate below. It seems the steering pulley had come loose. Back to the drawing board. Thank God for kind people and Soapbox Derby mentors and wire and pliers and sleep. Ours is the first race in the morning.


Saturday is a day of nose to nose heats. We make it to the finals. Time to hit the sack and see what Sunday brings. At the bottom of the hill, where the weekend culminates in eliminations and advances, emotions are like wheels braking on gravel. My stomach is in knots. Spinning down the hill, Axle crosses the finish line last. His head remains down until the weigh out. His back in a hump rises and falls after a long, deep breath and he comes up smiling, skipping off to the loser's bracket. And that's really what makes him a winner, but third place ain't bad. Oh-doo-dah-day.