Trains

Quinn is preparing for his Ph.d. prelims -- spending all day and most of the night at the lab, so Tiffany and Clarissa are heading to Salt Lake to spend some time with Grandpa Brent and Grandma Connie. They rode the train as far as Chicago yesterday. It was Clarissa's first train ride.

Our children grew up riding the commuter train. Randy would often call and suggest that I send one or the other or all of the kids into the City for the day. He would meet them at Union Station and take them to the museum or a special exhibit, or perhaps they would just spend a half a day at dad's office counting paper clips, sharpening pencils, and getting drinks from the water cooler. One of those train rides was particularly memorable for me.

Quinn was a newborn. Randy called and said to put little Randy (8 years old) on the train and they could spend the day together. We were rushing to catch the 10:30 Burlington. I only had Randy and Quinn in the car with me. It was b.c.s. (before car seats). Randy was rattling around in the back of the station wagon and Quinn was laying on the passenger seat. As I said, we were rushing when I saw the red lights behind me. I pulled over. An officer came to the window. "Do you have any idea how fast you were going?" "No," I said, "but I don't have time to talk to you about it right now. I'm trying to get this boy on a train. If you would follow me to the train station, perhaps we could discuss it there." He gave me that "what the heck" look, but he stomped back to his car and followed me to the station.

I jumped right out of the car and said, "Sorry, but I've got to purchase a ticket for my son. Hope you don't mind. I'll be right back. And oh, by the way, would you mind watching my baby while I'm gone?" (After all, if you can't trust a police officer with your child who are you going to get to babysit). We purchased the ticket and then waited, and waited, and waited. Randy was getting more and more nervous about getting on that train alone. I'm thinking, "Hey, kid, you think you're nervous. I've left my baby alone with a police officer. And I'm sure this ticket isn't getting cheaper by the minute." When the train finally came I asked the conductor if I could help this boy find a seat. He agreed. There were lots of good seats on the lower level, but no, Randy wanted to go upstairs (double-decker trains). We went up and he picked a seat. Just as he sat down I felt that unmistakable lurch and, yes, we were moving down the track --

"Oh will she ever return?
No she'll never return
And her fate is still unlearned
(Poor old Judy) . . .

When the conductor saw me flying down the stairs he looked like he might have a heart attack. "Too late," he said, "You'll have to go to the next stop." "I cant," I begged, "I've left my baby in the car." (I didn't mention the police officer). He pulled the emergency cord. The train ground to a halt. He opened the door and I looked down . . . down . . . down into a gravel pit. I knew it wouldn't be fun, but it would be better than jail. I jumped.

As I dragged myself up out of that gravel pit, the officer was still standing by my car -- arms folded, toe tapping, jaw clenched. He could have been a little bit sympathetic. This wasn't fun for me either. He gave me a ticket. Oh, did he give me a ticket. You'd have thought he might be just a tiny bit lenient. After all, Quinn was a really easy baby to tend!