Mike and Mike’s relating of the story of J. P. Hayes and the resulting discussion of integrity when no one is looking reminds me of this story from my youth.

The Pinewood Derby was a competition we had while in Cub Scouts. Each boy is given a block of pine wood, wheels, axles, and some rules, and is to sculpt a racing car from it, and then to compete with the other Scouts. These are about 8” in length or so.

My brother and I were both competing in the derby this year, sometime in the early ’80s. This was not my first derby; I was using the same car that I used last year. My brother was new to the competition and Dad and he had fashioned a new car for him. The competition was very close to my birthday, and my car got the assigned number that was the same as the number I wore in pee-wee football. The Pinewood gods were smiling on me.

My car won its first round match. I remember Dad having a conversation with another parent about Dad’s pinewood season, having to craft two cars. Dad mentioned that I was just using my car from last year. The other parent didn’t think that was allowed.

Dad checked with the officials, and, yes, the rules state that you cannot use a car from past years; that each car must be crafted for that year’s competition. Dad disqualified me. I was crushed.

Looking back, I remember being very disappointed, but I don’t remember being angry. I remember very clearly that a village elder (pretty sure it was Leland) saying “There’s only one true winner here,” meaning me (well, Dad, anyway) for doing The Right Thing.

Could we have gotten away with it? Probably. Was it an honest mistake? Yes, absolutely. We did not have any intention of cheating by using a car from last year, it was just way easier for Dad to have to craft one car instead of two.

This incident has stuck with me on several different levels. The first, of course, is the integrity of my father. I suppose a young boy always has a pristine image of his dad. That this is still in my head as a concrete example of his integrity proves to me that there is more to my dad’s honesty than just the cloud of a young boy’s head.

The second way this hits me is with Leland’s comment. People are watching. People do notice. You can’t say you don’t have a favorable opinion of this golfer knowing he took himself out of qualification for the year because he made an honest mistake that happens to be against the rules of his sport, even when no one would know. You did notice.

The last way is the dreaded “life lesson” that came out of it. My dad sets the bar very high, continuously, but it’s still a bar we all see and we all strive to reach. I can’t say that I’ve always conducted myself with the integrity and honesty above all else, but those places where I have faltered burn me to this day. I think about them in the quiet moments; I relive those incidents in my past. There are constant reminders that, while it’s maybe easier, and perhaps a momentary advantage, to lie, it’s so much harder in the long run. Integrity, honesty, and truth can be a brutal thing at the time. Small price to pay to be able to sleep at night.