Week 55: Ferrari 612 Scagletti

This amazing, and detailed, Hot Wheels road machine has the unfortunate name of Scaglietti, which just doesn't sound as nice in American as it would in Italian.

Scaglietti sounds like a made up put down from a middle schooler. Names just need to sound bad to have affect.


Racer A: Dad, Dre's calling me a booby butt.


Me: That doesn't even mean anything, so why does it bother you?


Racer A (going on five in Nov.): Because I don't like it. Tell him to stop calling me a booby butt.


Me: Okay, Dre, stop calling your brother a booby butt.


Baby G (age 2): (snorts) You bobby butt, dada.


Me: Yes I am. Dre, see what's happened? Baby G is calling me a booby butt now.


Racer Z: Sorry.




And so on.

In thinking about it, however, I sit corrected. A name doesn't even need to sound bad. I can remember an argument erupting at home once because one brother called the other a blinkyblonk, which ended up  in a shouting match and a loud proclamation of "I'M NOT A BLINKYBLONK! YOU'RE A BLINKYBLONK!"

He told him.

At least it ended before someone got called a peeshyposh.

I just can't tolerate that kind of language in my house.


Photo courtesy of Phil Pekarcik, who, like you, is seeing this new magazine format for the first time. I haven't decided if I will keep this new layout, but so far I like it because it highlights the great Tiny Cars photos from Phil and others. Write me and let me know what you think.

Week 54: Karmen Ghia

Convertible weather may soon be coming to a close here in Ohio, friends, but there is still plenty of time for a top-down, fall drive in the crisp autumn air to look at the leaves, just now beginning to forget their green.

This week's tiny car, a Matchbox diecast of an older model Karmen Ghia convertible (even if you are not a 'car person' tell me this isn't cool and exotic?), represents a car that is fast, difficult to spell, exciting, and full of exotic mystery, so of course it reminds me of...

                                                                    ... libraries.

One of my earliest memories is getting Leo Leoni's picture book Frederick (I had the heart of an English major even at age five) from our tiny library in the Kinderhouse, the brick kindergarten building in the small town where I grew up. I remember how amazed I was to find a place hidden away where you could pick out books to enjoy -- to me it was the equivalent of some sort of hidden garden with Creamsicles and colored lights. Ah, how I loved libraries.

Now, I take my own kids to our local library, and while some say libraries may be singing their swan song against the rush of digital books and online media, they are still places of magic for my kids, even if part of the draw is to play on the computers. No matter, it is still that mystery, that sense of being surrounded by words and meaning just outside of their grasp, that fuels the excitement, and the thrill of the hunt of finding that ultimate cool book.

You may be saying, "Well, that covers exotic, and mysterious, and difficult to spell, but I'm not getting fast."

Take a two year old to a library. You'll understand the connection to fast.

Rows of organized shelves with big open race tracks of carpet.  How can you not run? The act almost seems obligatory if you are two.

I love libraries, but if I could build my own fantasy library, the one thing I would change would be those ordered rows, not to stop Baby G from tearing down their book-lined tunnels, but to turbocharge the mystery. I would offer order, but I would also offer nooks and crannies and unexpected finds, twists and turns, unexpected rooms of literary finds, varying heights of ceiling, shelves hidden behind curtains, basements,  and winding, unexpected turns. Libraries are about mystery, and my library would emphasize this through its physical construction.

Baby G would still run, but it would be a circuit race, not a quarter mile.

I embrace e-books and all they hold, but I simultaneously embrace the gift of paper and binding. If as a society we primarily move to digital, I hope we will always have libraries as a physical place of intellectual mystery for our kids to explore. And for me.

Libraries are the Karmen Ghias of words.

The photo of the Karmen Ghia on the road to learning courtesy of Photographer Phil Pekarcik.

Week 53: 1974 AMC Hornet

Here we are 53 weeks later, the official beginning of the second year of Daddy's Tiny Cars. To celebrate, I tracked down a special tiny car, a 1974 AMC Hornet made by Johnny Lightning.

While many might not see a '74 Hornet as a special car, it was a Hornet, I don't remember the year, belonging to my friend Mike that drove us to many adventures while we were learning to drive in 1979.

I didn't look to see if my Johnny Lightning had a tiny eight-track player in the dash. If it doesn't, it should.

                                                           *      *        *

As previously mentioned, the first annual Daddy's Tiny Cars Race was held September 12, 2011.

The rules were made up as we went along, and, in retrospect, didn't actually make any sense. Each racer, this year Racer Z (11 years old), Racer A (4 years old), Baby G (2 years), and me (years enough to remember the Hornet), could pick three cars each, except for me, who only selected a single car. Each son would race a best-of-three match against my single selection, Week 51's bright yellow 1966 custom GTO station wagon.

How could I lose? I hoped they would take it in stride.

 Since I was racing more than anyone else, I decided that to move on to the finals, the kids would need to qualify by beating me. Winners would square up against each other. For me to win, I would need to beat all racers. I don't exactly get how that works, but I wanted to make sure I got to individually race all the kids and hadn't really worked out the details.

Baby G kicked off the trial run of the modified track by running a plastic Peter Pan figurine. No amount of coaxing to use something with wheels seemed to work. According to Peter Pan, the track was ready.

Racer Z kicked off the official races with his red Hotwheels Pro Stock Firebird.

Results: Racer Z dominated the first two races, negating a need for a third.

A minor setback. I was setback by a minor.

Strangely, since Racer A was manning
(kidding?) the camera, this was
the only shot of Racer Z.
See? His hand is in the grey
shirt.

Next was Racer A with his blue Hot Wheels Camaro Pro Stock.
I won the first race, he won the second, but I won the third. The focus, however, was on the wonderful win during the second race.

Baby G was a no show. He must be at the concession stand.

Racer A then raced his green Hot Wheels Spectyte, successfully beating my yellow wagon twice, meaning our next race would determine who would win the series. It would need to wait, however, for Racer Z was back, this time racing the legendary Hot Wheels Yur So Fast, fresh out of the package.

My wagon was not So Fast. Racer A won the first two. He had won the series.

Daddy and Racer A, with  glowing red eyes.
When the eyes glow green, GO!

Racer A returned, bucking the system by insisting he reuse his Pro Stock, which seemed to break the rules, but, since there weren't actually any rules, did not. A won the first race, but next I beat him by a hair. The third race, however, he won, winning the best of three series. Tears were averted.

Baby G, who had been doing an amazing job of hiding his excitement, finally arrived with an unnamed Hot Wheels MacDonald's toy to beat me in the first race. I think he ran it down the track backwards.

In the second and third races, however, he lost, which didn't matter as he had been lured away to the siren song of Nick Junior (the cable station, not some race car driver). Note to self: television off next time during the races.

With Baby G out of the running, that left the showdown between Racers A and Z.

Even though Racer Z had cinched the series win, we nonetheless raced his Hot Wheels Double Demon anyway. He, appropriately, won double.

Out of the races, I changed position from driver to sport and life coach as I monitored the race between Racer A's Pro Stock and Racer Z's Pro Stock and defused potential arguments.  In the final count, older sibling Z won the races. Tears were shed by younger one, older one gave pep talk, younger one sniffed, and then I wandered off in a dream state, thinking about next year's race.

A good time was had by all.

Racing excitement proved just a bit too much for Baby G.

Sadly, there were not spectators in the audience due to a poor PR campaign on my part (as in I didn't mention it to anyone other than a vague reference online.) Nonetheless, a great shout out to photographer Phil Pekarcik who took the picture of the Hornet and who was there in spirit.

His spirit even beat my station wagon. 

Week 52: Ferrari 308 GTS (in red)

What the ... Week 52 already?

I have been saying from the beginning that Daddy's Tiny Cars (which actually began as Daddy's Matchbox) would become cool to me after it had run for at least a year.

I just didn't expect a year to go by so fast.

Baby G is a year older since Week One, as is Racer A and Racer Z.

As am I.

Lots has happened, lots hasn't happened, I've remembered a few birthdays, I've forgotten a few more, but through it all the tiny cars have kept rolling. I've even duplicated a car - horrors!

Yes, this beauty of a sports car, a 1976 Ferrari 308 GTS, actually showed up in Week 13 in a blue version, unremembered by me until pointed out by Phil, photographer for DTC. Such will happen in 52 weeks, and as much as I loved that blue Ferrari, I like it even better in red, so no harm.

So as we prepare for the big Daddy's Tiny Cars race and a year into the diary, (see Week 51), I want to thank some folks who have ridden along.

Thanks to James at blog Luke I am Your Father and Barbara from Notes from the Second Half for your support, as well as to the other daddy and mommy bloggers and others who have written and sent out words of well wishing.

Thanks for the great car gifts from various friends: the incredible English coach from Rajni in Seattle (I'll get a picture at a later post), the cool cars from Tim P. in Cleveland, the three tasty additions from Linda in Washington, and of course cars from my folks and my brother.

Thanks for help with my pictures along the way to SAHD Thomas, Dom, Charlie, my wife, and of course Phil P.

Thanks for the constant weirdness and content inspiration from my kids.

And thanks to Les, David M. and Patty (both of NYC), Jen E, Amore, Marty K., and so many other great folks -- in essence, thanks to each and every person who has taken time to read this oddball of a blog adventure. Guess what -- you're all older too!

And you all look great.

See you next week for the results of the race. My station wagon is so going to kick butt.

And if I didn't mention someone I should have, please do not be offended -- I picked the same Ferrari twice without even remembering -- that's what happens to the memory after repeated doses of the Backyardigans, In the Night Garden, Wonder Pets, Wow Wow Wubbsy, and others (all of which I actually enjoy.)

Photo of my second Ferrari courtesy of Phil Pekarcik -- silver silos, for those looking to tour Ohio, can actually be found in Middlefield, Ohio.