Roan, I have a confession to make. I am getting sick of the train.
Maybe because this week was our 10th TTD. 10 train days, and we are still wearing all our winter gear. 10 train days, and you are showing no signs of walking up the hill yourself, so I continue to wear the ergo over all my winter gear. Lets just say it's not the most slimming combination.
We went to the Transit Museum again, which is what we did on our very first train day. Appropriately, you brought the subway car with us.
We got on the R train. I must have been broadcasting my foul mood because a few stops in this guy came over and got right in my face. "What you looking at?" he said. "You want me to hit you in your face?"
I've never been great with comebacks. I wish I'd had the presence of mind to say, "son, if you go out in public, you run the risk of getting looked at." Instead I started laughing. I know he meant the question as a threat, but it came out sounding earnest, almost accommodating, like if I said yes we would then discuss the particulars of where on my face I'd like to be hit. He said, "you think I'm playing?" and then we engaged in a staring contest. I took a long look at him. He looked mad and he looked tired. He was wearing a hoodie and sweat pants. Sadly, I am used to being bullied by a boy in pajamas. I said, very slowly, "I'm not looking at you," and broke eye contact. He turned away. "Don't look at that guy," I told you, because naturally you were now staring. The subway slowed to a stop and he got off.
You remembered the Transit Museum, and were very excited to go in. You remembered the pretend crate of dynamite and what I told you about the pulley cart, that it couldn't go because there wasn't enough track, and you told that story right back to me. You remembered right where the bus was. It's a real bus, with all the shifters and millions of buttons and switches.
And of course you remembered the subway cars. We went further underground to see them. The end of the platform (where you remembered "James" is) was blocked off. You stood at the barrier calling for Thomas and James. I knew you wouldn't leave without a fight or a bribe, so I took a deep breath and led you to the gift shop. I decided to buy you one train. Because I felt guilty for being so sick of them. I'm sick of formally greeting them, feeding them breakfast, rescuing them from the soccer net, finding them when they get lost, lining them up just so, gasping when they take plunges off the table, telling stories about them, reading books about them, and drawing pictures of them wearing costumes. I am dreading Halloween, when I will have to make costumes for not only you but all your trains. Percy wants to be a pig. Thomas wants to be an Indian. Gordon wants to be a knight. Henry, bless his heart, doesn't want to dress up.
I also felt guilty for letting the subway confrontation get to me. In such a dense city, we live our lives out in the open, in public spaces. Our actions and attitude impact so many. It is so important here to be kind. Nevertheless, I am used to getting bumped, muttered at, pushed, and occasionally cursed. I try not to take it too much to heart. But it wears on me. Sometimes I get tired of doing so much of my parenting in the public eye. I get tired of being judged. I want to shield you from this kind of disenchantment, for as long as I can. Some days I feel it building in me, like a shadow that gets longer and longer at the end of the day.
Some days it's enough to make me want to just stay home. Except that our home has been overrun with trains.
In the gift shop there were rows of trains lined up neatly in boxes, pull back steam engines that made a lot of train noises. You pushed the buttons on all of them, and soon the whole box was shaking with whistles and huffs. You took a red one out to play with while I skimmed through some books. When it was time to leave I offered to buy the red steam engine for you.
"No," you said, "I want to play with him here."
"We have to go home on the train now" I said, "so let's take him home. You can bring one train home."
"No," you said, and put him carefully back in the box. You grabbed my hand and led me out of the store. You asked for your subway car back.
You wanted to leave those trains as they were, so you could come back, and experience the magic all over again. I know this because you told me so, in not so many words. If you can have this much fun in a gift shop, and then ask me for a toy you already own, I guess this city hasn't turned you into a cynic quite yet.
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