The Takeaway Check, Issue #49
My son competed in a Diaper Derby crawling contest
One of the most famous of Aesop’s Fables is the tortoise and the hare. The fast bunny challenges the slow tortoise to a race. Thinking he’s got the race won, he stops midrace to take a nap, only for the tortoise, who never stopped moving, to pass him and eventually win.
I got to see this play out in real time a couple of weekends ago when my son participated in a Diaper Derby crawling contest at the Virginia Tech-Miami men’s basketball game.
In December, we had spent a weekend with my wife’s extended family, and there was some discussion about how much my son, then a mere eight months old, was always on the move and how fast he crawled. Within a few days, the family group chat had links to multiple crawling contests at college basketball games in the DMV area. My brother-in-law graduated from Virginia Tech and that one was the soonest one (he was starting to make some moves towards walking, so we were worried he’d be disqualified if we waited too long). The day after Christmas, we got the surprise email that he had been picked to compete.
The drive to Virginia Tech for us takes a couple hours, and we didn’t want to be rushed, but on the day of the game, we, of course, left later than we wanted to; that’s how it always seems to work with a three-year-old and a nine-month-old. Already pushing close to the start of the game, my son was going to need to be fed, and we were about 15 minutes away from Cassell Coliseum when my daughter declared she needed to go potty. We were on borrowed time.
When we pulled into the parking lot, I rushed my daughter inside while my wife fed our son. Adding to the chaos, we couldn’t bring our diaper bag in. My wife is smart and thinks ahead, so she had packed a few gallon-sized Ziploc bags just in case, but trying to squeeze in backup outfits, diapers, wipes, and some toys while rushing in the cold wasn’t a smooth process.
The people from Virginia Tech wanted us to meet them at the promotions table — on the direct opposite side of the gym from our seats — by the time seven minutes were left in the first half. By the time we got to our seats, we were at the 10 minute-mark. It was just enough time to get our daughter situated with our friends who met us at the game (along with her popcorn, pretzel, and “lemolade”), grab the toys we packed, and trek to our rendezvous point alongside two other families that were in our section that had children in the race.
When we arrived at the promotions table, a Tech employee led us to a stairwell —directly behind our seats — and down to an auxiliary gym where we could let the babies free while the rest of the half played out.
I thought about holding my son the entire time, so that when we got onto the court, he would hit the ground like the Road Runner, but he had been cooped up in the car and our arms long enough. As I put him down, another mom had put her daughter —in a maroon Virgnia Tech dress — down and walked a few feet away. The mom kneeled and dangled a set of toy keys in front of her. The girl didn’t move, but you know who did? My son made a beeline to the woman.
Looking around the gym, all the kids were on the floor. Some were sitting still, while others slowly moved a few steps here and there. Not my son. He was doing laps around the court like he was Lightning McQueen at the Piston Cup. Ka-chow!
Another Tech employee came in and called for us to line up in the hall by the number lane we were in for the race. We were in lane two, and when they called us, the dad of the girl that didn’t move for the toy keys called out, “He’s the one I’m worried about. He was moving!”
A side note about the competition: I have no idea how we got selected. It seemed like every other family knew multiple people that were working at the game. One woman came up to the couple in front of us, grabbed the child, and said, “I’m not supposed to be biased, but who cares? I’m not in charge of this event anyway. I hope you win.”
They walked us through the tunnel onto the court, with John Cena’s entrance music blaring from the speakers. The wrestling fan in me was enjoying this, and when they called us onto the floor, I held my son and raised my finger in the air a la Roman Reigns and The Bloodline. It was time for everyone there to acknowledge us.
I held my son on the endline while my wife went to the finish line at midcourt and held a toy basketball she planned to entice him with. The mascot for Invest529, the institution sponsoring the race, came out of the tunnel and stood behind us to the right. He was a fuzzy, green, Sesame Street-like monster that wore a graduation cap. The MC began the countdown. “On your marks, get set, go!”
On “go,” I placed my son on the court and immediately knew we were not going to get the start we had hoped for. Instead of hitting the floor like a pullback toy car that jetted forward, my son went to his butt, sat up, and looked behind me, mesmerized by Invest529 mascot. Instead of crawling to mom, he started crawling to the green guy.
My wife rolled the basketball down the court to me. I snagged the ball, scooped my son up, turned him around and placed him back in front of me. I rolled the ball towards my wife, and my son perked up and started chasing the ball. And while most of the kids sat still and cried, my son took off.
Unfortunately, not all the kids had sat and cried. The girl in the maroon dress had steadily been crawling down the court. She wasn’t breaking any speed records, but she kept moving, in a hybrid classic crawl-bear crawl style where she would use her left foot to push and drag her right leg to follow. By the time my son decided it was time to participate, this girl was already at the free throw line, halfway to the finish. And mom wasn’t holding those lame toy keys anymore. No, she now was shaking a full bottle.
My son plowed down the court, closing the gap. If Maroon Dress Girl would ever stop moving, distracted by the crowd, he would catch her. To her credit, however, she was focused on that bottle and just kept going.
She crawled past the checkered finish line. The race was over with my son past the three-point line, just below what would the large “VT” emblem. He stopped and sat up. I thought he somehow recognized his challenge was over and the mission unsuccessful, but really, he saw the green guy running towards center court to congratulate the winners and was transfixed.
Back in the hallway behind the court, waiting to be brought back up to the seating area, another couple stood across from us talking to one of the guys working the game. The mom shook head. “I don’t know what it is. At home, she’s such a speed crawler!” The dad furrowed his brow and stared at the floor. If it wasn’t a baby that had participated, I would say he was disgusted by her performance. “She’s oh-for-two now,” he solemnly shared.
My son didn’t get to meet the green guy, but he did get to meet the Virginia Tech Hokie Bird, and that seemed like a suitable replacement for him. He also got to have little pieces of his sister’s pretzel when we got back to our seats. He was unbothered by his performance in the race.
This was a really fun way to start 2025, and the story will go down as a family classic. As we continue through the beginning of a new year, though, the takeaway from my son’s participation in this Diaper Derby is to not get distracted from your goal. Keep moving forward. As long as you don’t stop, you will eventually get to where you want to go.
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