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<p>When I was a little more than a toddler, my dad used to take my older brother and me to the train station, while mom and my older sister stayed home for the weekend house cleaning chores. Those trips usually started with a ride on a streetcar - one of those old fashioned 4-wheeled things with wooden benches along the sides. Whenever the car came to a stop, we would be sliding back and forth on those benches, which meant a lot of fun to me, but not to my dad, expecting damage to the back of my pants. The visit to the station was really an adventure for us kids, as the main motive power in those days in the late 1950´s was steam. Trains came into and left the station every couple of minutes, so there was lots to see. I remember one day, when my dad lifted me up into the cab. The engineer let me seat in the driver´s  seat for a few moments and then let me stand up in front of the fire door. When he opened it I leaped backwards, landing in a bed of coal. You bet I did not look very nice when my dad finally took me back to the platform. This afternoon, my vocabulary was extended by quite a few new words when my mom saw me.</p>
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