A woman ran onto my LIRR train on Saturday, pushing a very young (one year old?) child in a stroller.  She parked the stroller by the window initially, but then suddenly thought better and mentioned – to herself, to her daughter, or to nobody in particular – “I should point her away from the window.  We learned today she does not like trains.”

The little girl played contentedly (or at least quietly – enough that I paid her no attention at all)  as we pulled out of Penn Station and inched forward underground.  Then sure enough, the very moment we emerged into the daylight and she saw the scenery passing by the window she started crying.

“It’s okay, Cindy,” her mother reassured, “it’s just like a subway!  It’s just a subway that’s outside, that’s all.”  The kid actually stopped crying!

I can understand how a kid from anywhere else, accustomed to ordinary trains, might be frightened to go underground, where it’s dark and noisy and scary.  In this world, trains are supposed to run underground, and when they come to the surface something has gone terribly wrong.

I love this city!