The Difference Between Moms and Dads

As you can see in the previous post, my Mom's response was, "You did what!?" (She has since forgiven me.)

My Dad's response, on the other hand, was, "Here's the proper technique for jumping from a slow-moving train, for future reference." (I think he would want me to mention that he did have a brief stint working on the railroad last year, so he would actually know.) Disappointingly, it does not involve leaping head-first and landing with a somersault. Nor does it involve landing on the back of a horse that's running at the same speed of the train, with a sack of money over your shoulder. No ladders dangling from helicopters, either. No wonder he quit the railroad. They don't have any real fun.

The Scourge of the Massachusetts Bay Transit Authority

She is a menace. She is a danger to herself and the countless citizens who rely on the MBTA for their commuting needs. She is clearly an unbalanced individual who needs to realize that public transportation is a privilege that can be revoked.

She is I.

Today I leaped off a moving train. I hesitated to post this news because I knew my mom would worry retroactively.

Mom: I'm sorry. The train can't have been going more than three miles per hour.

Everyone else: It was kind of fun. Embarrassing but fun.

Here's what happened: I left work earlier than usual because my brain was done. I got on a train different from the one I normally get on, thinking it might get me to a stop not far from where I wanted to be. I asked a couple of the other passengers to make sure, and it turned out I was wrong. By this time, the train was moving, so I bolted and jumped and tumbled into a crowd of commuters waiting for the next train. They were very concerned and helpful. I fell to the ground as soon as my feet hit the platform, but was physically fine. Embarrassed, but fine.

A couple hours have passed now, and it looks like the emotional shakedown of this is giddiness. I wondered if I'd be too ashamed to even write about it in my journal, but it looks like entertainment value has trumped dignity again and I'm putting it out there for the world to see. I'm a little excited: It turns out that I'm braver-slash-dumber than I'd heretofore given myself credit for. Ta-da! Yay me.

Slightly less Yay is the fact that I'm now afraid to wear the same coat while commuting, at least for the next week or two, lest I be recognized. It's quite distinctive. Imagining what this episode must have looked like is leading me to a realization that I probably have developed a fashion style, and it is this: Salaried Crazy. I don't have a lot of money, but it's been enough to get me some nice items that I can wear to work. I had on a bright peacoat, a long denim skirt, a sweater with a huge billowy collar that spilled outside the coat, rugged lace-up boots, and a cute knit cap that has ear flaps and ties under my chin. Lots of bright colors. Now imagine all that popping out of a moving train and slamming into a crowd of screaming strangers. A knit pastel blur, then a female voice coming up from the ground telling everyone that, apart from being stupid, she's fine.

I hadn't seriously considered before that I might be genuinely eccentric. But I jumped out of a train. I dress funny, even with all the help I get. I take naps at the table where I eat lunch, because I'm tired and I want to. I laugh out loud at the books I read, regardless of who's around. The knit hat starts to look less cute and more like something I wear to cover the holes through which I lost my marbles.

Yeah, maybe I'm eccentric. Or maybe I'm just a nerd who's a little loopy. Either way, I'm good. (And Mom, I'll try to get on the right train from now on.)