Du love children. They are so free, so fun! Your joie de vivre is simply contagious. You are a fountain of youth. Every time you fully engage with them, play with them, join in their silliness, get inspired by their crazy creativity, you become a kid again yourself.
Just as you were boarding you passed through a compartment in which three or four or five children were playing tag. The exact number remained unclear. Oh, that was fun! With cheers and with squeaks and laughter! The little ones were completely in the here and now. They had forgotten everything around them, they romped through the corridors so happily and carefree!
you enjoyed that Children have that dewy energy that we thoughtful adults so often lack. It is a pity that this energy cannot be transmitted permanently. When you think about it, and you’re doing it right now, the opposite is actually true. What little energy the battered adults have left is sucked off by the children. In any case, you preferred to keep going, even though you had made a reservation in exactly that car.
One should not disturb children in their free development. They don’t have enough freedom in our standardized society anyway. Boundaries are imposed on them everywhere. So it’s a relief when three or four or five of them are allowed to at least hijack a large-capacity vehicle when travelling. With the other passengers as a benevolent audience, with some as sparring partners and others as hiding places.
Is the train manager tied up in the mother-child compartment?
You find it pedagogically valuable when the parents don’t immediately identify themselves as supervisors on a train journey, but let the little ones do as they please, and do so as casually and unashamedly as possible. There was a bit of the impression that the parents had stolen away into another car, at least into the bistro, to sip a latte macchiato in peace and quiet.
peace be upon them. Then you’d better go another car, so that there is a kind of buffer between you and these lively children. From afar it is edifying to know this impetuous temperament in the train, this original wildness. How well does the train manager deal with it? Or is he already tied up in the mother-child compartment?
You’ve finally found a relaxing car, with the rest area icon on the door: face with index finger on lips. It will be quiet here, like in the sanatorium. You can’t even make phone calls here. The mobile phone symbol is crossed out.
A few idyllic rows are even free and not reserved. You sink into the seat. You relax. You use the comfort check-in. Then even the representative of the missing train boss won’t bother you. Welcome to the spa zone.
You smile at the family, that is misunderstood
Shortly thereafter, a young family pulls through the car, probably getting in at the last moment: father, mother, toddler, baby. Dearest! You nod to them and smile constructively as they pass. In your generosity you support her life plan. Keep it up! And above all further into the next wagon and then further, please, to where other children have turned the rows into bullerby.
Oh. Your smile has been misunderstood. The parents now believe that you have a heart for children. Which is absolutely true! You love children more than anything! Just not here. Not on the train. not near you Not when travelling. you’re still smiling Even if that smile is frozen, you just don’t seem enough of a deterrent.
Children like to make contact with fellow passengers during the train journey – even if it’s just by looking at them
Source: pa/dpa/Frank Rumpenhorst
They’re already setting themselves up in the two rows in front of you. They give you a grateful nod, as if you had reserved the seats for them. “I hope the children aren’t disturbing you?” the mother asks a little late. “Not at all!” it slips from your lips.
And to take tolerance to the extreme: “I think children make this often gray world a bit brighter!” The mother smiles sweetly. The father says: “Sometimes it’s the other way around.” Oha. Hope you didn’t get caught up in a smoldering conflict.
“Yeah, you can’t have fallen off the train, have you?”
The toddler, maybe it’s a real child, just a small one, has built up next to your seat. It grabs onto the armrest, which is actually yours, and stares at you. You feel like you have to behave yourself. If that kid is your grandmother’s reincarnation, she’s about to trumpet that you booged and stuck the booger under the seat and that you’d better get a handkerchief. Hopefully it can’t speak yet.
“Where am I?” it calls. OK. It can speak. It has now hidden behind his hands. Great game! You want to smile at the mother, but she is breastfeeding her baby. The father has opened his laptop and is starting to work. You are now a single parent. “Yeah, where are you?” you whisper.
You don’t know if it’s a boy or a girl. From a gender perspective, you think it’s wrong to ask about it. The child shouldn’t be determined so early, at least not by you. “Where am I?” it crows. – “I can’t see you anywhere!” You claim. “Yes, you can’t have fallen off the train, have you?”
The mother looks up, startled. The father drove around. You say nothing. But from their looks you read that your choice of words was inappropriate for sensitive souls. Maybe the child is even highly sensitive?
The camera in the roof of the car recorded the process. The recording is only saved for 72 hours. But within the deadline, someone can demand insight, for example affected parents. In that case you will have to pay for the trauma therapy. “Sasha isn’t bothering you, is it?” the mother asks. “Not at all,” you smile.
The seat becomes a trampoline for Sasha
Then you’ll agree with Sasha turning the seat in front of you into a trampoline. All you need is persistent hopping. And you’ll appreciate it when Sasha – you still don’t know if it’s a boy or a girl, and that’s a good thing! – when Sasha sings you all the songs it learned in kindergarten over the backrest, such as “Grandma is an old environmental pig” and “All the grown-ups are afraid”. You welcome this challenge for all senses.
It won’t bother you either if Sasha chokes on the orange juice and snorts over the edge of the seat at you. You know: children’s mouths tell the truth. In this case, there are also a few chunks of biscuits. “The things should be in the laundry anyway,” you reassure. Which is true. “Why laundry?” Sasha wants to know after his mother has blown his or her nose.
Exciting question! And very justified! You prepare to answer an endless series of why questions until the next stop. You learn the most by doing it yourself. Because what adults take for granted, children question. You enjoy this reexamination of your slightly outdated worldview. And you handle it in gentle babysitter mode. The parents are sincerely grateful. Because at some point Sasha falls asleep.
That’s worth the premium for first class
And only now – before it was probably too restless – does the baby start to cry. You almost forgot that one. It’s nice that this creature makes itself heard too. And so powerful! And so sustainable! Great vocal cords, great abs. Maybe in the opera in thirty years! For the time being, with a bit of luck, it will be one of the popular screaming children.
You still have a long journey ahead of you. But you pretend to have to get off at the next station. You expressly regret that. And then you actually do it: you get out. You even wave to the family from outside. Totally unsuspicious! Alibi secured!
And then quickly rush outside the train into a zone where Sasha and her relatives will most likely not follow you. Maybe you pay the surcharge for the first class to be on the safe side. You have now learned so much in such a short time, you have developed so much that it is worth the additional cost.
The text is an excerpt from the recently published book “Who comes later has more time. The railway as the ultimate school of life” by Dietmar Bittrich, dtv, 160 pages, 10.95 euros
Source: dtv publisher