Chasing trains

Sometimes we chase trains.  I’m trying to remember how it all started exactly.  My son (Benjamin, 4) loves trains.  He started liking machines and vehicles.  Then, via the influence of a neighborhood friend who loved Thomas (the Tank Engine), and gifts of some toys train sets, etc., he focused on trains.  Rides on trains at zoos and theme parks strengthened the interest.

Also, my wife and I have pointed out railroad tracks to him as we drive around.  We point out and talk about our surroundings almost whenever we’re driving.  (It’s part of our “There’s A Whole Big World Out There Beyond the In-Car DVD Player That We’re Never Getting” program.) Benjamin is interested in most anything, but again zeroed in on the railroad tracks and crossings and where they are in town.

Then came the first day he was in the car when a freight train was going through the crossing.  This was a glorious moment for him.  He was with Mom, though, and they proceeded through the crossing like normal people and told me about all the excitement later.

The turning point was when the train, Benjamin and I all came together in the same place at the “right” time.  We came up to the crossing; there was a train.  Benjamin was ecstatic; I was excited for him.  I don’t remember exactly how it transpired, but once the train passed, he probably said something like, “I wonder where it’s going.”

I most likely said, “Yeah, I wonder where it’s going.” Then youth’s natural curiosity colluded with my impulsive-compulsive-obsessive personality at a moment when we didn’t specifically have some place to be right away.  And, though I’d never been a model railroader or a train buff, I kinda’ wanted to see which lines the train would take, where it was taking those cars, if it would go over the old railroad bridge over the river . . .

Anyway, Benjamin said (I think), “Hey, maybe we should go see.”

And, instead of saying something like an adult — a parent — would say, I believe I may have said something like, “OK.”

That day and ever since, I have found myself — every so often … more often than I’m willing to admit — with Benjamin following a freight train through town on adjacent streets, “meeting” it at multiple crossings, pulling over on dead end streets to wait for it to uncouple cars.

I did not heed, at the crucial moment described above, this important advice for parents: be careful what precedents you set. I am not one of those parents who has trouble saying ‘no.’ When we go out, I nevertheless have to be prepared to debate or dictate not about McDonald’s or going to the park, but when and why we can’t go following locomotives through town.

I will say I’ve learned a lot about the tracks, sidings, engines, and train cars that move around our town all without ever talking to anyone that works for the railroad.

To my surprise, my wife has told Benjamin he’s very lucky to have a dad that would take the time to “chase trains” with him.

That may be true for a short time.  But consider the file they must have on me at Homeland Security — “ . . . male in minivan with ‘son’ posing as railfans; appears to be casing tracks in proximity in chemical and power plants . . . “

I should be positive.  Perhaps Benjamin can take a train to come visit me at Guantanamo Bay.

Meanwhile, when I hear that unrelenting air horn and the smell of diesel exhaust, those are the sounds and smells of unexpected father-son bonding.