Choo Choo Trains

When I was very young, my daddy went away on business trips. A lot. He was the advertising director for a company in Lindsay, California. He went to New York frequently and to Argentina once. And I know he went to Albuquerque at least once: he brought me a Native American doll.

We went frequently to the train station to take him to the “choo choo” train. Trains operated on steam in those days….the sights and sounds are still in my head. I remember the rhythmic sound of the wheels turning and gaining speed and the “whoosh” of steam as the train pulled into the station. And, of course, the mournful cry of the train whistle, muffled because I had my hands over my ears.

I don’t think I understood the concept of traveling on the train when we first started taking Daddy to the station. I just knew that, if my daddy was gone, we would go there and he would appear at the train door. I loved to go get my daddy: he always brought me a present. And it wasn’t always a doll, either. Sometimes it was just something special, like a napkin with the picture of a train on it. I would put all my treasures from my daddy in a pink jewelry box with a ballerina on top.

My daddy traveled extensively during most of my early years, promoting products and securing orders for olives from purchasers all around the world. I was used to the routine: take him to the train, wait several days, and then go pick him up again. We always got to have ice cream to celebrate when Daddy came home.

The year I was four was pretty hard for us: my mom “went away” for nearly four months. I was never told why she went away, I just knew that my mommy was gone and my daddy was trying to keep everything together and work all the time, too.

I spent a lot of time with a babysitter. I don’t remember much about it except that the other kids took their naps on mats on the living room floor and I got to take my nap on her bed. And I got to listen to records on a little record player in her room, too. She seemed to like me, she would always tell me “you poor little baby, your mama’s gone away”….and it would make me sad.

My mother came home just before I started kindergarten. I went to afternoon kindergarten on the bus. We were picked up right in front of our house and dropped off there, too. Mommy was always home and usually had cookies and milk for me after school.

One day, the bus dropped me off and I walked up to the house, just like I always did. When I tried to open the door, it was locked. I tried again, it was still locked. I went through the side gate to the back door: it was locked, too. I started to panic! I ran back around to the front door and pounded on it. No answer. I peeked in the window: no mommy.

I was scared! My mother had left me for those four months and I thought she was gone again. I started to cry. I walked next door to the neighbor’s home and pounded on her door: no answer! By this time, my heart was pounding and I was sure I had been abandoned. I didn’t know what to do so I sat on the front porch and cried.

Nearly an hour later, the neighbor lady drove up to our house. My mommy got out of the car and ran up to me and picked me up and hugged me. I couldn’t stop crying and my mother was crying, too.

She was taking my daddy to the train station and was planning to be home before the school bus got there but, she had a flat tire. She called the neighbor lady who came to pick her up and bring her home. Later that evening, some men from our church went and fixed the flat tire and brought our car home.

I stopped liking the choo choo train after that…….