When I was a kid, my parents built a house. I remember bits an pieces of the process, but I didn’t help much aside from putting up a mailbox one day when I was three. We hadn’t even moved in yet.
So none of my parents house-building skills were transferred at birth. And at the end of 2009, I was told that I had to build a race car. Out of wood.
Um, argh?
So I know jack rabbit poop about making a Pinewood Derby car, but I know lots about the Internet. Instead of freaking out, I hopped on and surfed.
There’s an awful lot of info online about these little pine blocks of wood.
There’s a flash application that lets you choose your car and “paint” it, then print out the design so you can trace it onto your car. Then there’s another site that gives you a list of the tools you need to buy (from them) to make your car.
Score.
With a list and a design, I was prepared. I got my cope saw and sandpaper, wished I could have found a decent half-round wood rasp for tiding up, and made a trip out for a 3″ vise (not cheap, by the way). I was at my parents house Saturday, so I figured they could help me out if I needed them to.
All those house-building skills, you know.
Would you like to know something interesting? Maybe it’s mostly that I talked (complained) to women about having to help build this car, but everyone I got advice from was a woman. One immediately told me, “Don’t forget the weights. I forgot, and had to glue mine on at the race.” Another said, “Oh, yeah, and the graphite to make the wheels go faster.” Apparently, I am surrounded by strong women who like building cars.
So there’s me, in the basement. I know enough to operate the vise, and my mom comes down and reminds me about having padding between the car and the vise. Wood shims – score. (And another helpful lady.) I also know enough to cut the wood without cutting off my finger (my dad offered to hold it for me by hand – the guy on Warfarin – I don’t think so, Dad). With a couple of other suggestions, and a half an hour of my son running around in the basement, eating marshmallows, while I cut, blew out sawdust, and cut some more, I had a car.
I did it!
Now the moral of this isn’t a “Girls Rule, Boys Drool” thing. It was completely awesome that I got such great girl advice, and perfectly okay that I didn’t get any boy advice. I’m sure if I asked some Dad’s who had done those cars before, I would have also gotten good advice from them (although I can think of a couple who would have teased me about getting my husband to help because I’m a girl and I can’t change my own oil).
The moral is that I didn’t know what I was doing, I didn’t have any carpentry skills, and I still rocked it. No, it’s not perfect, but my son is thrilled.
The moral is that without a perfect plan and someone who knew exactly what was going on and could have taken over, I still just got in there and got it done. Maybe it took me a bit longer to cut without a band saw, but I still did it.
The moral is that when there is something big and you need to perform, don’t let a lack of experience get in your way (unless of course you are going to use that band saw). Get your tools, get your overview, and just do it.
Those Nike guys, they really had something, didn’t they?