Subway Summer

When my son was four, he was obsessed with vehicles.

Cars, buses, trucks—anything with wheels fascinated him. But nothing compared to trains.

Especially subway trains.

It was the summer before we left Bulgaria, and like every parent of a four-year-old, I was always thinking about where we could go and what we could do together.

Most families went to the zoo, the park, or the playground.

Not us.

We went underground.

On those hot summer days, the subway was actually a perfect escape. While the streets of Sofia were burning under the afternoon sun, underground it was cool and comfortable.

There was only one small problem.

My son didn’t want to ride the subway for a few stops.

He wanted to ride it for hours.

And as if that wasn’t enough, he had a favourite station.

We would get off there and simply… stay.

Not because we were waiting for someone. Not because we needed to change trains.

We stayed there to watch the trains.

One would arrive. The doors would open. People would get off. Others would get on. The doors would close, and the train would disappear into the tunnel.

Then another would come.

And another.

And another.

Sometimes we stood there for more than an hour.

I look back now and wonder where I found that much patience. At the time, I remember thinking, How many trains can one little boy possibly need to see?

Apparently, there was no limit.

Recently, I came across some photographs from one of those subway adventures.

And suddenly, that station didn’t feel boring anymore.

My eyes filled with tears.

There he was—four years old, completely fascinated by something so ordinary to everyone else. And there I was beside him, probably wondering when we could finally go home.

What I wouldn’t give now for one more hour on that platform.

One more train arriving.

One more train leaving.

One more little boy standing beside me, watching it all as if it were the greatest show in the world.

There is no subway where we live now. If there were, and he asked me to spend hours riding it with him, I think I’d say yes before he finished the question.

But perhaps the most beautiful part is this:

He still remembers our subway adventures.

All these years, I’ve thought of them as my memories of him.

Only recently did I realize they are also his memories of me.

Maybe that’s one of the strange things about parenthood. While we’re busy trying to get through an ordinary afternoon, our children may be quietly placing it somewhere inside their childhood.

And sometimes the moments that test our patience while we’re living them become the ones we’d gladly live all over again.

Even if it means watching just one more train.

And then another.

GK