The Little Boy Beneath the Years

Nature doesn’t disdain what lives only for a day

Photo by Elijah Mears (Modified by John P. Weiss)

There was a train set under the family Christmas tree when I was a boy, and it confused me. I had not asked for a train set, nor did I have much fascination with locomotives.

There was the Billy Jones Wildcat Railroad at Oak Meadow and Vasona Parks in Los Gatos, California where we lived. Sometimes my family and friends enjoyed a day at the park and paid for rides on the one-third scale train. The steam engine let off an unusual, metallic scent. Combined with the shrill train whistles and scenic tour around the park and lake, it was a delightful experience.

But that didn’t mean I wanted a train set.

It was my father who wanted the train set. As I opened the packaging, Dad sat beside me to help.

“Look at that little engine, with all metal parts!” he exclaimed. “See, they all hook together, and once we set up the tracks, they run electrically. I think there’s even a whistle,” he said, eyes lit up with pleasure.

“Neat,” I must have said, trying to appear enthused like him—because boys want to please their fathers.

There were plenty of other gifts for my sister and me.