The Train Bound for Glory

A strange visitor showed up in Hannah’s first grade classroom this afternoon. She resembled Hannah’s mom in an uncanny way, but Hannah’s mom hasn’t worn bib overalls since the eighth grade. Furthermore, Hannah’s mom drives a noisy mini-van, but this guest was partial to steam engines.  

 

The striped-hatted-conductor punched boarding tickets as sixty pajama clad first graders waited to step onto the steam engine (which looked a bit like a re-arranged classroom). A few of Hannah’s friends may have wondered how the train-dame knew their names and could make small chat about their little brothers and puppy dogs that would have loved to ride the Polar Express as well. The crowd in the coach wiggled in anticipation as the accompanying teachers reminded them about the “train security guards” who would be roaming the aisles and asking unruly riders to abandon their seats. The teachers encouraged good train behavior and promised that a snack cart would be pushed through the coach before the ride was through.

When the last ticket was punched, the bibbed boss blew a train whistle announcing that the Polar Express was on its way. Destination: North Pole .The first graders peered out invisible windows and spied wolves roaming the frozen tundra. They craned their necks to see the lights of the frozen city’s toy factories, and they sat in rapt attention as Santa bequeathed the first gift of Christmas. One sweet little passenger (who had never heard the famous Chris Van Allsburg story before) gasped when the lucky recipient of Santa’s sleigh bell discovered the hole in his bathrobe pocket. That same little girl beamed when at the book’s end, the first gift of Christmas was returned to its rightful owner with a personalized note from Mr. C.  With the flip of a page, The first grade Polar Express slid to a halt, its passengers wide-eyed with awe. The conductor’s last words (or shall I say, Van Allsburg’s poignant ending) hung heavy in the air….

 

 

And then, the conductor reached for a tiny bell. Carefully, she jingled it, a tinny tinkle floating through the train cars. “Can you hear it, children?”

 

Hands shot boldly in the air (proof of marvelous first-grade classroom conditioning) and bottoms wiggled excitedly on yellow plastic seats. “I hear it!” the delighted passengers shouted, “I hear it!’

 

“Me, too! I believe! I believe!” I marveled at their innocence, my heart warmed by their contagious faith. Their giddy grins lit up the room, their whole-hearted declarations were met by knowing teacher smiles and soft applause. Sweet mommies serving hot chocolate and treats rolled in the snack cart and the pj’d-passengers cheered in genuine appreciation for it all. The spirit of Christmas was alive and well. We believe. We believe. Then it washed over me, unexpectedly and fierce- a wistful ache to give these precious passengers MORE, more than a happy Santa story. More.

 

Perhaps the children expected the conductor to linger over a steamy mug of cheer, but the strange bibbed visitor hastily excused herself to the boiler room to “check on the steam.” Gotta make sure we’ve got enough OOMPH to deliver you all back to your classrooms before school’s out for the holiday. A tip of her pinstriped hat and she was gone.  Thankfully, no one followed, because the unexpected tears would have been difficult to explain.

I love a magical storybook (What retired English teacher doesn’t?), an extraordinary helping of fun in the midst of an ordinary school day, and an animated stroll down the brightly colored streets of a child’s imagination. I savor the invitation to be a part of my daughter’s first grade world and I am awed by the creativity and zest that our amazing teachers bring to the daily demands of public education. But one glance at the wide-eyed believers on our fun little Christmas train ignited an unexpected longing in this mommy’s heart. I wanted to pack up every pajama wrapped child and take her to the manger. I wanted a train bound for Bethlehem on a crisp Christmas night.