All Aboard!
How a Day Out With Thomas helped me understand my son's obsession.
by Katherine Ozment
June 28, 2007
"He's a boy. He likes trains," Michael said.
"Okay, let's say that's true. Do you really want to spend a whole day with Thomas?"
"That's a different question."
In the end, we decided to go, steeling ourselves for a day among pint-sized train fetishists. We arrived at the Edaville Railroad in Carver, Massachusetts, on an overcast Saturday in June. A pimply-faced teenager dressed as a train conductor shook our hands in the parking lot and pointed us toward the fairground, where a huge, grinning face was emerging from the trees. William saw it and vanished behind my legs, clinging to my thigh with his small hands.
"What's that?" he said, peering out as the train approached.
"That's Thomas," I said, groaning inwardly.
"Big," William said, tentatively.
"He is big," I said, suddenly thinking that this outing, which we'd planned long in advance and driven over an hour to do, forgoing our usual lazy Saturday at the playground, was about to end in a meltdown.
"But he's . . ." I searched for the word just as the train chugged past.
Suddenly I saw Thomas for what he was: a big, cheerful distraction, an expression of unadulterated joy in the form of a toy train. "He's friendly," I said, a surprising warmth coming over me as I gazed into Thomas's huge eyes. Suddenly I saw Thomas for what he was: a big, cheerful distraction, an expression of unadulterated joy in the form of a toy train.
I knelt beside William as Michael watched me, slack-jawed at my newfound enthusiasm.
"And you know what?" I said, beaming excitedly. "Thomas would never hurt us."
I practically ran us all to the loading platform, half-bullying my way through the morass of Thomas-T-shirt-clad kids and their parents, finally wedging us into a plum spot at the front of the train. The conductor, a forty-something guy with bleached hair and the distinctive aura of a hangover, yelled, "All aboard!" and the train lurched forward.
Just then, the sound of the nauseatingly high-pitched Thomas theme song piped through the speakers above our heads. A few parents started swaying slightly to the music, a foot tapping here, a head bobbing there. The woman next to me managed to get most of the chorus: "They're two, they're four, they're six, they're eight," before trailing off. Without thinking, I filled in: "Shunting trucks and hauling freight!" Soon, we were all singing.
©2007 Katherine Ozment and Nerve Media
About the Author
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Katherine Ozment is a freelance writer working on a collection of essays about motherhood. Her work has been published in The New York Times, National Geographic and Salon. |
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