Trapped

William Waiting for the Bus

Recently, William, our kindergartener, showed me his Christmas list. It contained the normal requests, Legos, puzzles, books, Play-Doh, all written in his teacher's handwriting. One item caught my attention. About mid way down, William asked for a,

"Leg trap."

Now, this might have alarmed most parents. In fact, I'm surprised his teacher didn't give me a call with her concerns. I knew why he wanted a leg trap. I just wasn't sure how he knew what one was. Some time ago, William started the uncomfortable odd right of passage of losing one's baby teeth. He was very interested in the Tooth Fairy. He left her notes asking a series of questions as in,

"How old are you?"

"Where do you live?"

"What color is your hair?"

"Are you married?"

Just to let you know, the Tooth Fairy is in her twenties, lives on an island, is a redhead and is still available. One time he asked,

"How big are you?"

To which he got,

"About the size of a mouse."

Mouse Trap

I, for one, did not know the Tooth Fairy was so small. The next time William lost a tooth, he set up the game, Mouse Trap, in his room and put his tooth under the red cage as bait. It took him all afternoon. I asked why he had done that,

"I'm gonna capture the Tooth Fairy," he announced.

"Capture the Tooth Fairy! Why?" I asked.

"She sneaks into our house," he reasoned.

"What if she gets mad and doesn't leave you any money?" I asked.

"I just want to see her red hair, then I'll let her go," William explained.

The next day William's tooth was gone. There was no money. A note with a single strand of red hair taped to it read,

William,

Please find enclosed my red hair.

   Sincerely,

     The Tooth Fairy

Now, William was asking Santa for a leg trap. He and his older brother, Aidan, had schemed to use an inverted laundry basket and a stick to capture Santa. They were planning on tying one end of a string to a cookie and attaching the other to the stick.

"That's not a good idea," I instructed.

William looked puzzled.  "Why not?" he asked.

"Remember the Tooth Fairy. She didn't leave any money. What if Santa decides not to leave any presents?"

"I just want to see what he looks like, then I'll let him go," William explained.

I don't think William had thought this through. Messing with Santa while he was at work just didn't seem like a good idea. The dude is on a schedule. Springing a trap on Santa could have dire consequences like getting you top billing on the Naughty List. So I asked William what was up with the leg trap. Apparently, he asked Siri for the best way to capture a rabbit.

"A rabbit? Why do you want to capture a rabbit?" I asked.

"I want to see what the Easter Bunny looks like," William answered.

"I don't know about that Willy," I said.

The thought of snagging the Easter Bunny in a leg trap seemed awful. I had this image of a white bunny with a flowery straw hat and a little wicker basket full of eggs gnawing his own foot off to get away. It's odd that people regard a rabbit's foot as good luck. The rest of the rabbit likely feels differently.

"I thought we could keep him for a while," William surmised.

A lot of children's fairy tales are kind of creepy with strangers creeping into your house while you sleep. In any event, capturing the Easter Bunny and keeping him as a pet wasn't going to happen. Just take a guess who would be cleaning the cage. No thanks. I don't want any part of abducting the Easter Bunny or the Tooth Fairy for that matter.

And forget about trapping Santa. The dude is like a clown with super powers.

Editor's Note: Originally posted on December 8, 2016.

When Children Are Heard

Aidan and William

Everyone talks a lot in our house. My wife, Christine, and I have two boys, Aidan, 13 and William, 5. For some time now, we've written down just about every amusing thing they've said. Here are just a few of their thoughts expressed over the years.

When Aidan was very young, we were rolling coins saved in a large jar when he asked, "Why are we doing this, Dad?” “We can use this money to eat when we are on vacation," I answered. Aidan exclaimed incredulously, “Daddy, you can't eat this money!"

William sneezed rather loudly right next to Christine who announced, "That's my face, you know." William chimed, "No, it's not. It's my nose."

When Aidan was five, he was eating a lollipop that was sour. I asked him, “Aidan, do you like your lollipop?” To which he answered, “I like my lollipop, but my lollipop doesn't like me."

William and I were on our way up from the basement when I asked, "You want me to carry you?" To which William answered, "No, I'll carry myself."

I was making sweeping motions with my hands while coloring with Aidan when I said, "I'm an artist. Look at me." To which Aidan said, "You're not an artist, Daddy. You're my dad, and I'm a boy." "Is Mommy a boy?" I asked. To which Aidan answered, "No, he's a girl.”

While in Florida, we were swimming on a cool day. William's teeth were chattering. I asked, "William, are you cold?" To which he answered, "No, but my teeth are falling out."


 

Aidan was not feeling well. He was up late, using the bathroom. I rounded the corner as he exited the loo saying, "You okay, Aidan?" He jumped out of his socks. After Christine helped him into bed, she asked, "How are you feeling?" To which Aidan said, "Stuffed up and a little bit startled."

William asked Christine, "Why aren't you at work today?" "Because it's Sunday," Christine answered. "So girls don't have to work on Sunday?" William asked.

Aidan and I were brushing our teeth in the bathroom. Aidan looked over at my back side and said, "Daddy, your big butt is staring at me."

We were on vacation in a waterpark in Orlando. When it came time to return home, William expressed his dissatisfaction by saying, "I don't want to leave. I want to stay in this world."



Aidan and William

Aidan and William were watching cartoons when Aidan got up and left. Christine said, "Let's watch something else. I hate this crap." To which William declared, "I like this crap."

Christine was making cupcakes when William climbed up onto a stool. He slipped and bumped his chin on the counter. After he stopped crying, Christine asked, "Are you okay now?" To which William answered, "I think I need a cupcake to feel me better."

I said to Aidan, "You always say 'no' to everything." "No, I don't," Aidan declared.

William once asked, "Are there colors in the world that no one has ever seen?"

Aidan was not feeling good so he told Christine, "Mom, my stomach hurts." Trying to ascertain the nature of his belly ache, Christine asked, "What does it feel like?" To which Aidan answered, "Horrible."

I gave William his shoes and jacket while saying, "Put these two things on." To which he exclaimed, "You mean these three things."

Aidan and I were playing a word search game. We were looking for the word, "hummus." I told him to look for two "m's" next to each other. He pointed to two "w's" then said, "Here they are, but they're upside down."

William on his Bike

When they were older, we left Aidan briefly in charge of William as we went off to pick up groceries. Aidan called saying that William was sad and missed us. Christine asked Aidan to put William on the phone. William exclaimed, "If I had just gone with you, we wouldn't be in this mess!"

William said, "Me find it." To which I said, "You mean 'I find it.'" William asked, "Why are you gonna find it, Daddy?"

Aidan and I were riding the small shuttle that ferries visitors at Christine’s work. I put my arm around him, and he objected. I said that I need to hold him back just in case we get into a car accident. Aidan asked, "How can we get into a car accident when we're on a bus?"

On a Friday, I told Aidan that we were going to New York city the following Sunday, and we were going to lunch with Mommy today so he had to try to go to the potty before we leave. He said, "I want to go when we're in New York City. They have a bathroom there."

William and I visited Christine at work. Not knowing the unusual circumstances of having a stay at home dad, upon entering her work area, he asked, "Why are there boys here? I thought only girls worked."

Aidan was singing MC Hammer's one hit wonder, Can't Touch This. I told him, "Aidan, that's not a nice song. Sing something else." He responded, "What if I sing can touch this?"

Observing the March sun melting snow, William asked, "Is the snow allergic to the sun?"

When we entered a lift to go up Tower Bridge in England, Aidan was standing next to us as people moved into the elevator. They really packed everyone in. As the doors closed, I looked down at Aidan who was completely surrounded by people squeezed around him. He looked up and said, "This isn't good."

I was checking the location of Aidan's big toe to ascertain if he needed new shoes when I asked him, "Where is your toe?" He pulled off his shoe and sock and said while pointing to each toe in succession, "Right here. And next to it is this toe and this toe and this toe..."

A colleague was helping Aidan with a pair of scissors at work when he instructed, "Don't slip or Aidan will be cut into two pieces." To which Aidan retorted, "Yeah, one big piece and one little piece."

Recently, Aidan said, "Time will tell." To which William retorted, "Time can't talk."

Aidan was raised on Christine's freshly baked bread. One day, after returning from a friend's house, he said, "Mom, I had the coolest thing at their house. They had bread that's already sliced, and it was in a plastic bag."

William asked, "Dad, will you blow up this balloon for me?" "I tried, but I wasn't able to tie it," I responded. To which William said, "I guess Dad doesn't have a growth mindset."

William asked Christine, "Did you miss me Mommy?" "I did," Christine answered. To which William asked, "Where was I?"

On Halloween, William saw a kid dressed as an owl. I mimicked the bird by saying, "Who cooks for you?" William followed with, "My Mommy does."

William exclaimed, "Today, I had brown ham on a bun at camp!"
"Brown ham?" I inquired.
"Yes, brown ham."
"You mean a hamburger?" I asked.
"Yeah, that's what they called it," he answered.

We were all in a diner. William looked through the menu then said, "This isn't good. There's no kid's menu, and I can't read."

William took a dump in the toilet. After he cleaned himself up, he turned, looked down then solemnly declared, "The heart of a guinea pig."

William was trying to get me to repeat what he was saying so he said, "Pete after me Dad."

Around Ground Hogs Day, William announced, "Some hogs live in the ground, you know."

William ate an apple down to the seeds, then explained, "I'm done with this apple. I got down to the cookie." William was eating an orange with seeds when he exclaimed, " Mommy, these oranges have nuts." When William was two, he would abbreviate his request for lemonade by saying, "Juice lemon, please."

William was sliding down the stairs on his rear when he asked, "Why don't worms go down the stairs like this?" "I don't know," I responded. "Because worms don't have butts," he answered.

I was reading a book to William when he announced, "I have to go the bathroom," then asked, "Can you pause that?"

William and I finished a race in Mario Kart when he declared, "I winned!" I told him, "You could've said, 'won'." To which he announced, "I wonned!"

William wanted me to take his picture so he said, "Get a phone and picture me."

When William was very young, he babbled at length for some time then said in perfect English, "In other words, Aidan's gone."

Whoever said, "Children should be seen and not heard" never bothered to listen.

Editor's Note: Originally posted on December 13, 2016.

Model Train Subculture



 Tyco Train

Our two sons and I like trains. My interest goes way back to my childhood when my prized toy was a Tyco Spirit of 76 train set which I still have. It's the only thing that survived from my adolescence. Our son, Aidan, discovered the train in a box in the basement. Together we set it up, and to our dismay, we couldn't get it running. So we decided to have the gaudy, red, white and blue engine fixed. Our first stop was the local hobby shop.

Now, the first thing you have to know about model train shops is that no one there will actually speak to you. Most shops are affiliated with a model train club, and so they know all the regulars. At our local hobby shop, they didn't want to bother with a father and son likely looking for some Thomas and Friends. I did manage to show them my broken engine which they quickly wrote off as junk, not worth repairing. So we decided if it couldn't be fixed, then we would replace the old engine.

Thomas the Tank Engine

When it comes to model trains, the expense and sophistication can get well beyond the range of a mere toy. Today, model trains are operated with controllers that employ Digital Command and Control (DCC), a standardized protocol which allows the operation of multiple trains independently on the same track. Aidan researched the whole thing and was adamant that our replacement engine should be DCC enabled. Oh, and by the way, never call them "toy trains." Men who are serious about model railroading don't take kindly to the t-word.

Armed with marginal terminology, the two of us jumped back into the subculture of model trains and tried to hold our own in our local hobby shop. They ate us alive. We wanted a DCC compatible engine that looked like the one I had as a kid. They told us to come back when we knew what we were talking about. Now, I shouldn't be surprised because on the way into the shop I saw a sign in the window that read,

"If you don't like our sense of humor, let us know so we can laugh at you."

These guys meant business. So Aidan did some more studying, and we visited other shops in our quest to replace the engine. He got online and registered at a model train forum in order to ask questions. On the general thread, Aidan asked,

"How many trains can a typical DCC controller run?"

A simple questions requiring a whole number for an answer. He was lambasted for asking a DCC question on the wrong thread. One respondent said,

"If you don't know by now, you probably never will."

Not to be out done, Aidan found a thread about vintage Lionel train sets and posted this,

"I wonder if anyone can help me? My dad inherited my grandfather's Lionel 400e Presidential train set. We set it up at the beach. It ran for a while, but now it won't go. We checked the user's manual that we found in the original box. Any help will be greatly appreciated."

Some explanation is needed here for you non train heads. The 400e Presidential is arguably the rarest Lionel train. Almost no Lionel train boxes survive to today, and the manuals are mostly unheard of. In one day, there was at least 500 responses indicating what dumb asses we were for ruining such a rare train. My father's never had a Lionel train which we tried to operate at the sandy beach. Aidan just wanted to mess with these unsocial train nerds.

In the middle of winter, we attended the largest model train show on the east coast, the Amherst Railway Society's Railroad Hobby Show in West Springfield, Massachusetts. Twenty-five thousand people converge on the site for the two day event. We learned quite a bit while wandering around the extensive train layouts and retail booths. We actually found some people who would talk to us. My wife, Christine, even enjoyed it. She was the only woman in a two mile radius.

In the spring we were on vacation when we stumbled across a yard sale after breakfast. I never go to yard sales because I don't want to buy someone else's trinkets and baubles for 75 cents when I got plenty of my own. For some reason, I found myself pulling over to the side of the road, much to the dismay of the rest of my family. Christine made a beeline for the old, tattered, musty paperbacks. She often buys grocery bags full of used books. I watched her finish a novel one time, put it down, then reach randomly into the bag for another, then resume reading.

"Aren't you even gonna read the title?" I asked.

"I know I want to read it. It's in the bag," she responded.

I often wonder if she mixes together the plots of several books. Like if I ask her what's she reading, she would say, 

"A young woman, fresh out of college, meets a business magnate with a rabid dog who goes to a school for wizards."
 

William and Aidan
with the Rare Find

In and amongst all the assorted crap that people sell at yard sales, Aidan unearthed a small blue box embossed with train graphics. He made his way back to me in great excitement. I read the label in disbelief. Inside was a Spirit of 76 themed engine made by a company called Athearn. Not knowing if it runs, we bought it for the yard sale price of five dollars.

Aidan's research led him to believe with some conviction that older engines like this one could be retrofitted with a DCC card so it could operate independently on the track. We went back to the local hobby shop with our new, old engine. I warned Aidan that these dudes will likely laugh at us, then send us packing. We checked our pride at the door as we entered.

Aidan placed the blue box on the counter and asked for the modifications in what sounded to me to be perfectly delivered model train vernacular. The dude looked quizzically at the box, picked it up then carefully removed the contents. He inspected the engine, then the box, followed by the spec sheet which was still in the box.

"This is an early Athearn," he declared.

Customers in the shop began congregating around the counter, some marveling at the box as much as the engine itself. The guy yelled into the back room,

"Ted, you have to come see this."

U33B Seacoast GE Diesel

A bearded middle aged guy with magnifying goggles on his forehead made his way to the front counter. Ted inspected the engine closely. He placed it on a small section of powered track and drove it a short distance in both directions. He pulled his goggles down as he scrutinized the undercarriage. Ted looked at the spec sheet, then spent an unusual amount of time inspecting the box. When he was done, he lifted his goggles, then cradled the engine on his forearm as if it was a rare bottle of wine.

"This is a first generation Athearn, probably 1970 or 71. It's in remarkable condition. It's complete with the box and the instruction sheet. The box has a scallop insert typical of first generation models. Can I ask you where you got it?"

"Yard sale," Aidan answered.

Ted continued, "Do you mind if I ask what you paid for it?"

"Five dollars."

"Well, this engine is valued at..."

Ted looked to Aidan then to me, then lovingly to the engine resting on his arm.

"$150."

The customers began clapping. I wasn't sure if I was supposed to clap too. I swear I thought I heard someone gasp. It took some convincing before Ted agreed to install a DCC card into our rare find since he was reluctant to modify such a pristine relic. He kept the engine in the shop for an extra week after he completed the installation because people kept coming in to see it. He relayed an offer of $250 from a customer which we declined.

Now when Aidan and I go into the local hobby shop, they greet us by our names, always calling me "Bob." Ted even occasionally comes out from the back room to ask us if we discovered any more rare finds. That's how we broke into the inner circle of the model train subculture. Ironically, we replaced our engine with one that was slightly older, but better made. It pulls the train I played with as a kid, driven by the next generation of consummate railroad enthusiasts.

Editor's Note: Originally posted on November 3, 2016.

Fucking Pool Logbook

Aidan on the Beach

About ten years ago, my wife and I met my sister and her husband on a Caribbean island for some family fun to help get us through the cold New England winter. Whenever Aunt Jeannine visits her nephews, her arrival is on par with the second coming. For weeks I answer just one question,

"When is Aunt Jeannine coming?"

Nothing else matters to our boys when there is a pending visit by Aunt Jeannine. Now we were escaping the winter for a warmer climate and while all that was great meeting up with Aunt Jeannine was the anticipated pinnacle of the trip.

We got to the island first and met Kevin, a retired Bronx NYPD detective, for the key to the house we were renting. Kevin worked for the management company that handled everything. We were a few minutes late because on this Caribbean island the roads were not named and the houses were not numbered. The first words out of Kevin's mouth were,

"You know if every appointment I had was five minutes late I wouldn't get home until midnight."

Christine, ever the logical thinker, explained, "Actually if every appointment you had was five minutes late at the end of the day you would be five minutes late."

However true Kevin still looked annoyed as he twisted open the lock to the house. He was a heavy set scraggly dude who resembled Al Pacino except he was bald. Kevin gave me a quick rundown of the house, then he hastily exited for the pool deck.

"This is the pool," Kevin exclaimed.

I'm glad he explained that because I wasn't sure what that big hole full of water was for. Now that Kevin pointed out that it was the pool it made more sense. He moved briskly to a mouse infested pump room where all the pool equipment was located.

"This is the switch for the filter. It's off now. Don't turn it on," Kevin commanded, then he continued, "This switch is for the waterfall. Just keep that off."

"Okay, " I noted.

"These are the pool lights. You can use them, but it's better if you don't."

"Okay great Kevin thanks," I answered.

Kevin held up a tattered notebook that was tethered to the pump.

The Logbook

"This is the logbook for the pool. Don't touch it," he warned.

On vacation I don't exactly have a lot of patience for that kind of tour so I did what I could to get Kevin on his way. The minute he left I turned on the waterfall because the management company advertised a pool with a waterfall on their website. I thought of leafing through the sacred pool logbook and maybe drawing some superheroes, but I decided swimming in the pool with my family would be more fun. Maybe later.

My sister and her husband arrived the next day, and we all had a wonderful visit. On the way back home we said our goodbyes and hugged in the small Caribbean airport. As we waited for our plane to board I got a phone call.

"Hello," I answered.

"Yeah, Robert. Kevin." Kevin proceeded, "I told you not to touch the fucking logbook."

My first thought was that this former Bronx detective had watched a security video of me drawing action figures in the pool logbook, but then I realized I forgot all about it.

"I'm not sure what you mean," I answered.

"You know what I mean. The fucking pool logbook!" Kevin blared.

Now I know how to handle cops. I saw it countless times on YouTube. A lot of people don't realize when an armed police officer asks you a question you don't have to answer, ever. The founding fathers were smart enough to ink into the Constitution the Fifth Amendment that states you don't have to help the cops collect evidence against you. So I was about to exercise my Fifth Amendment right under the Constitution when Kevin declared,

"I know you picked it up when you packed your bags."

Sure like I went out to the mouse infested pump room and snatched the pool logbook, and stuffed it in my luggage. I tried to take the pump as well, but it was too big.

"I'll check when I get home. All our luggage is on the plane," I explained.

"Oh, that's just great," Kevin retorted.

"I'll check our luggage when I get it back," I assured.

"I know you have the fucking logbook. I looked everywhere," he exclaimed.

When I was younger I likely would have told ole NYPD Detective Kev to try looking up his ass, but the years have mellowed me far more than they have this Bronx gumshoe barking accusations at me.

"I'll check when we land," I said.

"You do that," Kevin said, then he hung up.

"Who was that?" Christine asked.

"Kevin, he lost the logbook to the pool. He thinks we took it," I answered.

Christine waved off interest as she silently communicated the same adjective Kevin used so frequently to describe the pool logbook. When we retrieved our luggage at the local airport back home, I zipped open the largest suitcase.

"You're gonna look through our luggage right here?" Christine protested.

She was right. No matter how important the logbook was it was not worth pawing through our dirty underwear in public. I went through our luggage when we got back to the car, then I called Kevin.

"I didn't find it," I said.

"I know you have that fucking logbook which is very important because it has the whole history of the pool in it," Kevin recited.

Imagine that. The whole history of the pool from its humble beginnings as a mud hole to the glorious waterfall that you're not supposed to use all in that one easy to read book.

"Well, it's not in our luggage," I stated.

"I know you have it. You want me to fucking fly up there and search myself because I will," Kevin exclaimed.

I thought of saying, "Sure, Kev, that would be great. Jump on the next plane to Connecticut with a valid search warrant, and I'll let you look through my wife's luggage. In fact you can search our whole house. Christine will make scones, and I'll grind some of my choice coffee beans. We'll make a day of it."

Instead I offered, "Well, let me check with my sister."

"Oh, that's what happened. Your God damn sister has the fucking pool logbook," Kevin spewed.

"Okay I'll let you know," I said as I hung up.

"He still didn't find it?" Christine asked.

"No, but his investigation is focusing on my sister. You know how she's always pilfering logbooks whenever we go anywhere with her," I mused.

At this point if the pool logbook surfaced anywhere in my possession I would have used to start a fire in the hearth. I called my sister as we drove. She had left hours before us and was already home.

"The what?" Jeannine asked.

"The logbook for the pool," I explained.

"Why would I have that?" she asked emphatically.

"I don't know. Inspector Kevin lost it. He's convinced one of us took it."

"Like I went into Mickey's Pump House just to score the logbook?"

"It was tied to the pump so I have no idea how it got lost."

"Tell Lieutenant Dan find his own logbook."

"Well, the thing is he keeps calling it the 'fucking pool logbook.'"

"Tell him to check his own ass."

You can tell she's my sister. So I dreaded calling Kevin because I was certain he was going to scramble his old buddies on the NYPD SWAT team to shake me down for his precious pool logbook. I dialed his number.

"No luck, Kevin. My sister doesn't have it," I said.

"I found it," he muttered then hung up.

I stood there holding the phone to my ear as Christine lazily looked out the car window.

"Oh, don't worry about it Kevin. I know how important the pool logbook is," I said then added, "Yeah, we really enjoyed ourselves."

Christine focused on my one-sided conversation.

"Wow! Terrorists stole the pool logbook? That's scary. You caught them? Good collar," I rambled, "Death penalty? Holy cow! Well, it is the whole history of the pool. Okay, thanks."

After pretending to hang up, I looked briefly to Christine as we drove home.

"Al Qaeda stole the pool logbook, but Kevin nabbed them," I relayed.

Christine looked unamused.

"What really happened?" She asked.

"I don't know. He found it somewhere."

To this day we don't know how the pool logbook became untethered from the pump and walked out of the mouse infested pump room on that small Caribbean island. We never went back. I did get an email from the management company thanking us for our patronage. They asked us to relay what they could have done better. I told them,

"Heavier string on the fucking pool logbook."

Editor's Note: Originally posted on November 29, 2016.