Trainspotting

Railroad crossings used to make me anxious because I hated getting stuck at them. As I’d approach, and suddenly the lights would flash and the barricades dropped, I’d feel like a complete loser.

“Goddamn it!” I’d yell and watch the train roll by.

In that moment I questioned every decision I made leading up to that point:

• Why didn’t I leave the house sooner?
• Why did I waste time tying laces when I could have worn flip flops?
• Did I really have to stop and feed Jake?

Sometimes reckless thoughts enter my mind. Hmm. The barricades are down, but the train is a good 100 yards away. I should go for it! I’m sure I’d make it, but I wouldn’t want the train to honk at me. It’s like getting yelled at when you know you’re wrong. And if I didn’t make it, I’d be killed. So there’s that.

There’s a crossing on West Lake Avenue near my house where I get stuck a lot. That it’s so close to my home makes getting stuck more aggravating, especially when I have a code brown.

A neat thing is happening though. I don’t mind getting stuck anymore. In fact, when I’m with Jake, I look forward to it. He loves trains, and the glow in his face when he hears and sees one is simply indelible. “Kids make everything better” suddenly isn’t an entirely bullshit statement.

What used to irritate me has changed into a bonding opportunity.   On Tuesday, I turned onto West Lake and hoped for a train. Sure enough the lights flashed, the barricades dropped, and the cars in front of us stopped.

“Jakey!” I beamed. “A train is coming!”

He smiled widely. “Wow! Train. See it!”  It was a long cargo train.

I turned to my mesmerized son. “This is cool, isn’t it?”

“So so cool,” he said.

The train continued, and Jake craned his neck and said something that sounded like “go kart.”

“Go kart?” I said.

“Go car,” he said. Then for clarification, “GO CAR.”

I got it.  “Oh, you want the cars to go?”

“Yeah.”

“So we could get close, and you could see the train better?”

“Yeah.”

“But if the cars go, they’ll get hit by the train.”

“Ah ha.”

“Do you want that?”

“Ah ha.”

“You want cars to get hit by the train?”

“Yes.”

“There will be bloodshed. Do you want bloodshed?”

“Yes.”

“Body parts will be strewn about. Do you want that?”

“Ah ha.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”   I did nothing, and my disappointed son continued to crane his neck and command the cars to go. I let him down.

Perhaps seeing an androgynous human being at a bus stop would cheer him up. After the train passed, we came to a stop sign, and that person was waiting for the bus.  Claudia or Claudio—we’ll call said person—wore jeans and a polo shirt, had curly hair, some boobs and a soul patch. I studied the person more and mumbled, “What is that?”

“Womanman,” Jake answered jubilantly.  He pointed and repeated himself, “Womanman.”