Heredity

("Big Alex," Felton Street in Waltham, MA)


I was reminded during a recent visit with my sister how much I loved big rigs when I was young. She's five years older than I am, and told me that to this day she remembers the difference between a cabover and a conventional truck tractor because of how obsessed I was with spotting 18-wheelers.

Previously, I hadn't thought about how similar my one-time appreciation for big trucks is to my 9-year-old son Owen's current love of subway trains. I used to ride my bike down to the heavily traveled Route 10 in my hometown, Simsbury, CT, so I could spot trucks. I would hang out for quite a while, trying to get them to blast their air horns. And when they did, I got a real thrill.

I was totally into CB radio lingo, even buying a book so I could learn some in case I picked some up on my walkie talkie while I was watching trucks. Did I watch "BJ and the Bear" on TV? Yes, I did. Did I love C.W. McCall's "Convoy" when it played on the radio? Yes, I did.

I've never seen "Convoy" the movie, however, which I need to rectify.

In the last two years or so, Owen and I have gone on close to two dozen trips on the Boston subway system. He loves the trains, the stations, the noises, the connections between places. I love to take pictures and see parts of Boston I don't usually see from the highway or local streets.

Just as I now take my son on subway trips, my dad helped feed my truck obsession, although not to anywhere near the degree that I help Owen. My dad took me to a truck dealership in Hartford once, and explained to a driver outside how much I loved trucks. Faster than you could say, "10-4, good buddy," I was climbing up to take a look in the cab.

Another time, on a family vacation out west, we stopped for the night at a motel in Salt Lake City. I was in the outdoor pool and saw a truck pull into the parking lot. Once again, my dad asked, and once again, I got to check out the cab.

Also, I loved the "Smokey and the Bandit" movies when I was a kid.

And I had a favorite 18-wheeler when I was a kid. In the center of Simsbury was a factory called Ensign Bickford. They had a red-white-and-blue cabover Peterbilt parked there with a double sleeper. I used to dream of breaking through the security fence and driving that thing away.

Why did I love trucks so much? Because they were big, and loud and the best ones had huge chrome smoke stacks, running lights that lit up the night and the guys driving them looked like cowboys. I imagined that driving a semi truck was all fun: traveling the open road, being your own boss, sleeping in the truck like it was a camper, meeting people from all walks of life.

Now, like me, Owen dreams of one day driving a big rig, although a subway car is a much different beast than an 18-wheeler. He loves the Green Line more than any other, and keeps track of which trains we've ridden (they have four-digit numbers prominently displayed), which ones have derailed in the past, which ones have been repainted. His favorite stations are Government Center and Park Street, because the trains squeak the most as they come around the bend at those stations.

And, like my sister, I've learned a lot from exposure to a young boy's deep interest. Thanks to Owen, I know the difference between a Kinki train and a Breda train, for instance.

I wonder what Owen's kids will be obsessed with. Maybe spaceships.