Learn From It

Do you mind sitting across from a small child? No, of course not, I say to the young (well, younger than myself) woman with the red ponytail and the tow-headed two-year-old. I smile and that convinces her.

We're going to see daddy in the City! The boy repeats “City?” San Francisco! I cannot tell if the import of that was lost on the boy or not.

A masterfully-packed bag produces a drinky-cup of apple juice upon demand. Then a Dora book. The boy stands up on the seat, looking out the window. “Train!” Yes, we're on the train. “Daddy!” Yes! We're going to see Daddy! Let's call him.

The magic bag proffers a mobile phone. The boy says, “Conductor!” I am surprised by three syllables and I look up from my own book and smile at him. He reaches for the Dora book and it falls to the floor. I pick it up, and I smile.

Thank you, the mother says, cellphone to ear.

“Thank you!” the child says with no prompting.

Again, I'm surprised. I look to the mother. She smiles, proud. Good for her, I think, she has every right to be. The boy is intelligent and observant, never becoming scattered and distracted.

Daddy isn't answering his phone, she says to the boy in child-placatives. I look at her face and there is no hint of distrust or suspicion or negativity. I am envious but only fleetingly. Let's page Daddy! she says. And does.

The phone rings within 30 seconds and I hear only her side: Hi....no....were you worried?....good....I should have called you when we first got on the train but the conductor—

“Conductor!” the child exclaims. Want to say hello to Daddy? “Hi Daddy!” says the boy into the phone in perfect diction.

I smile again, making eye contact with Mom. They say my blue eyes sparkle, but hers beam. This woman wears Happy as comfortably as she wears her ropey sandals and her casual blouse and her child on her hip (even though he'll almost be too big for it).

The conductor announced 22nd Street!. My stop. The train slows. The passengers stand and begin to gather. “Blue hair!” the boy says about a man walking by with blue spiky hair and too-long blue sideburns.

Mom looks mortified—ish. She's still smiling because there was no harm done and because it was true and because her son is a bright boy and because the man has already passed.

“No hair!” the boy says. This time he's looking at me. I was waiting for it. I hear a sharp intake of breath, a reverse hiss. SSsssssssih!

No hair! I say, smiling huge at Mom. The I look at the boy as I rub my bald head. No hair!

The train stops and I stand up.

I want you guys to have a wonderful evening, I say to her. And I meant it quite earnestly.

“Thank you!” says the boy.

Thank you so much, says the Mom. Thanks for putting up with us.

Are you kidding me? I asked through a still-big smile.

“Bye!” says the boy.

Technorati Tags
caltrain
godofbiscuits
sanfrancisco
sf