The Train

A mother brought her young son aboard the train. They got on at Ravinia, the southernmost stop in Highland Park, and got off at the uptown Highland Park stop, just one stop later. It was the child's first train ride, the mother told the passengers around them. One stop. Like wading slowly into cold water. The train is fun, the mother wanted her child to know. It is not scary or dangerous, though it is big and it is to be given a wide berth. You must exercise caution. But then it's fun. They rode the train for about four minutes, and then they departed. It was almost lunchtime; I bet they ate something soon thereafter.

I think this is the wrong approach to parenting. I think a child's first train ride should be a long one, at least an hour long, maybe more. Possibly Transiberian. At least to the city proper. Take the child to the downtown station. A train can still be a heroic thing, a fantastic journey. Don't take your kid on a five minute train ride and ruin the possibility for exoticism in daily life. There are only so many opportunities. Don't make everything so safe that adventure lasts all of five minutes and ends in chicken fingers. Don't ruin the train. The train will ruin itself years later, when the child is broke and the summer is hot and there is no car to take to and from his old job in the suburbs. The train will ruin itself. Let the train be an adventure; create a memory for that child. It's one of the many things wrong with overly cautious parenting. The toddler now owns the train. He owns it. It can never hurt him. Let the train own the toddler, let him build it up. Boys must idolize the big parts of the world around them. It is in their nature. It is part of boyhood. If they don't idolize the trains, if they don't respect them, they grow borderless. Boys are expansive. They will fill the space you afford them. Fear and admiration. Let the boy see the world, like a gleaming ornament from afar, but do not let him hold it in his little hand.