A train passed by us during our walk through the neighborhood on Sunday. We hear it all through the day (and night), and while I have become quite accustomed to its occasional whine, I try and point it out to you whenever I think of it. I’d like to think I would do the same if you were a little girl. I mean, trains are mesmerizing to me too, right? I want to resist handing you gobs of the obviously gender-stereotypical likes and dislikes, but who can resist the rhythm and clickety-clack of a train, huh? It makes me think fondly of travel in Europe.
Papa used to drive trains, and when Momma was a little girl (already in elementary school, but I’m not sure how old), my class took a field trip to ride the trains with my daddy, your papa. I got to impress all the little boys by pulling the train whistle and releasing a sharp, shrill warning as we tooled around in the train yards.
You watched as the cars rumbled by on the tracks, completely engrossed and fascinated. Your eyes followed the last car down the track, and you waved goodbye as it slowly got smaller.
