At times he is cheeky, at times wise, but always hardworking and very useful. He helped me take showers or just take a breather. He is a good friend – really a family member – who will be so hard to say goodbye to. But, say goodbye we must. I thought our relationship could hold out at least another six months or perhaps, dare I say it, a year. But alas, Thomas has left the building. Figuratively of course – we still have probably thousands of dollars worth of the little blue engine and his friends, plus tracks, buildings, engine washes and even a pig that oinks residing in my basement. The train box is barricaded behind hockey nets and Legos – the detritus of three boys, but I really thought that when I offered to pull it out and build a track with my five year old, Aidan, the other day, he would jump at the chance. “I hate Thomas!!” he exclaimed in response, breaking my heart right then and there.
“But Aidan, we have so many cool trains – so many tracks and buildings. We could make a great track,” I reasoned.
Aidan looked at me with the seriousness of a five year old determined to keep up with his two older brothers and their more worldly pursuits and offered, “Just have another baby and he can play with it.” If only it were that easy. I am not giving the trains away, that much I know. Even if Aidan never casts an eye on them again, I will keep them for my grandchildren, no matter how much my husband begs me to clear out the space in our basement.
It’s more than the money spent that gnaws away at me whenever I think of those poor abandoned engines, just gathering dust after being the objects of affection for so long. It seems as if saying goodbye to Thomas equals saying goodbye to early childhood. Yes, there is still plenty of adolescence left to go around my house. Nerf guns and footballs litter the living room, board games reside in the TV stand, but early childhood – that chubby fist maneuvering a train around the track while mouthing “Peep, peep” – well, that’s just about gone.
My oldest son, Drew, loved Thomas with a passion. He never cried harder than when he was told he couldn’t bring a Gordon train home with him from the toddler playgroup he had attended for the first time. It was his first venture out on his own, he had become a big brother a month earlier and it was all just too much for a two and a half year old to take. But, there was Gordon, big and blue and strong and he made Drew feel so much safer that first day. He clung to that train like a lifeline. Of course he wanted to bring it home – he felt it was his payment for enduring two hours away from Mommy. The teacher let him that first time, provided that he return it two days later at his next playgroup. But that next time, he cried even harder when he needed to leave it, despite our assurances that it would be there for him to play with it when he returned. He lasted only a few more sessions – every time he had to leave that train, he would wail, even though I bought him his very own Gordon – it just wasn’t worth the pain, his and mine.
Thomas even helped Drew potty train in record time six months after the Gordon debacle – cost me a pretty penny, but it was worth every dime, especially when Drew returned home with a new train and “introduced” him to all the old trains. I so miss those little moments, especially now that if Drew’s not playing basketball or baseball or doing homework, he spends most of his precious free time on his ipod touch, tuned out from the world.
We were sure Drew’s baby brother, Joshua, would follow in Drew’s footsteps and be a Thomas aficionado. But, by the time Joshua was old enough to emulate his big brother, Drew was a preschooler, already becoming enamored of Power Rangers and Super Heroes, much to my dismay. His Thomas back pack gave way to the Justice League one he just had to have for kindergarten. He still loved Thomas, though – enough that when he graduated kindergarten, his gift was a Thomas video.
Joshua was into Thomas for a brief time, but he truly loved those Power Rangers (which I despised – I was thrilled the day we sold most of them as a lot on eBay and donated the rest) and, thankfully, Rescue Heroes. The wholesome message of Rescue Heroes balanced out all of the nasty fighting in Power Rangers. In fact, far from selling our huge lot of Rescue Heroes on eBay, I’ve tried valiantly to get Aidan to play with them. No go. But, as much as he shunned Rescue Heroes, he embraced my beloved Thomas trains. He has rarely watched our vast library of Thomas videos and DVDs, but then again, he has never really watched TV – I can’t take the credit for that, it is more a product of his sensory integration disorder. Television is just too much overload. Instead, he built tracks and begged for new trains and told stories about the Island of Sodor and sat in my lap every night while I regaled him with the tales featured in his giant Thomas anthology.
Then, we moved the Thomas trains into our basement in an effort to convert our overstuffed playroom into a less chaotic den. Yes, my den is now a den and not a catchall for every toy in the house (ok, that may be exaggerating just a bit – it’s still a catchall, just marginally neater) – but, we lost Thomas and all his very useful friends in the process. Did I not realize that out of sight meant out of mind? Did I think Aidan would love Thomas right up until elementary school, even if he hardly played with his trains?
You may be wondering why putting Thomas in the basement seems tantamount to sending him to Siberia. My kids just don’t play in my basement, even though it is finished (completely overhauled just six years ago, with nice comfy carpet and bright high hats), even though it looks like Toys ‘R’ Us mated with Sam Ash (the music emporium) and they had a love child. For one thing, it’s cold in the winter – the heating vent is just below the ceiling, quite possibly one of the worst design flaws ever. For another, they just won’t go down alone – whatever the reason, apparently the boogie man resides there – and getting a sibling or parent to accompany one is often, I imagine, more trouble than it is worth. Drew is the exception – he goes down to play the drums, but he’s not playing with Thomas and friends. And, if all the boys are down there, especially if my husband joins them, the only things being played are instruments. Thomas can’t hold a candle to a family jam session, even to a five year old.
Instruments are one of the few things in our basement that actually hold Aidan’s attention, at least for a bit. He didn’t slide from little kid toys to medium kid pastimes, no superheroes or Bakugan for him. No, he enjoys more cerebral pursuits. Like multiplication and division and cube roots and converting Celsius degrees to Fahrenheit. He is, as his school’s education specialist phrased it, a “math phenom”. He was “off the bell curve” for cognitive math skills, scoring an astounding “above the 99.9 percentile” when he was evaluated for hearing services last month (which of course he didn’t get, because the school just can not believe that a child scoring in the very superior level on some things and low average to average on others could possibly need services, but that’s another blog post). If I want to know the weather forecast, no need to check – I just have to ask Aidan and he can spout off the ten day forecast, complete with highs and lows and precipitation. I was wrong when I said he doesn’t watch television. He watches channel 61 traffic and weather and will tell you it’s, “Only on Cablevision, never on Fios, never on satellite. Know before you go.” The exact tagline.
While other kids are playing superheroes, Aidan is doing negative number problems on his calculator (all he wanted for Valentine’s Day was a calculator with negative number capability – he was extremely disappointed in the Hot Wheels pack and sticker book I bought him). All he wanted for Chanukah was a working otoscope, because he wants to be a pediatric otolaryngologist (an ear nose and throat doc) when he grows up. He looked at my tonsils with that otoscope and declared them a “plus three.” You know what, he was right. He is amazing and unique and I love him just the way he is, but I sometimes worry that he may be missing out on something – that he’s simply not playing enough. That’s why I am mourning the loss of Thomas, that’s why I am so hesitant to let him and his cheeky friends go. It has always been Aidan’s connection to the magic of childhood.
Just seven months ago, we took Aidan and his brothers to Thomas’ Day Out. His brothers didn’t even want to go on the train ride, but Aidan jumped right on, clutching his conductor’s certificate and staring around in awe. I’m afraid to contemplate what he would say now if we went, probably “No thanks, Mom – it’s just a train.” Recently, I called Aidan, “My baby.” He looked at me and said, “Mom, you know you only call me your baby, because I am your youngest. I’m not really a baby.” Nope, I guess he’s not.
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