Back in January, 2007, the fam and I stopped by Yukon’s downtown train museum. Yukon’s downtown train museum consists to two train cars permanently parked on a small section of track just off Main Street. In the window of one of the cars there are two permanently affixed signs. One reads “By Appt. Only,” the other says “CLOSED.” I’m not sure which was posted first. Nobody I know has ever seen inside the train museum, which really isn’t the point. It’s two stationary train cars that kids can climb all over. One thing I like about the train is that there has been absolutely no effort to child proof the thing at all. Forget taking your shoes off before playing — in fact, steel-toed boots probably wouldn’t be a bad idea here. Both cars are covered in exposed bolts, sharp edges and steep steps, all hungry for blood. I should also mention that the retired train sits about fifteen feet from live train tracks, which is a great place for children to be playing. Again, I’m getting sidetracked.

So back in January when we told Mason we were going to go see the trains, he insisted on bringing, of all things, a magic wand. Why? Who knows, but he did. And of course, two minutes into the trip, Mason had lost his magic wand. He poked it through one of the floor grates where it fell, but never hit the ground below. It must’ve landed on that magical shelf where every screwdriver I’ve ever dropped in my truck’s engine bay lands. The magic wand never reappeared, and there were many tears.

Fast forward ten months to last Monday. Susan, Morgan and I all had Columbus Day off; Mason had school. I guess they have to learn that dumb “In fourteen-hundred-and-ninety-two, Columbus sailed the ocean blue” poem sometime. While the girls and I found ourselves at Party Bizarre (formerly MG Novelties) browsing though Halloween crap, Susan ran across magic wands for a dollar. The minute I saw her pick the wand up, the two of us came up with the same plan at the same time — go back to the train, plant the wand, and let Mason discover it.

At 3:30pm, we picked up Mason from school. I made up some BS excuse for driving downtown and when we passed the train Mason said, “hey, there’s the train where I lost my magic wand!” Hook, line, and sinker. This was going to be easy. “Do you want to go look for it?” we asked. “Yeah!”

So I park and the kids run toward the train cars. Susan and Mason go around one way and I go around the other. Susan palms the wand from her purse and sneaks it to me; I slip it into my pocket. As Mason begins looking on one side of the train, I drop the wand under the steps on the other side, where he lost the wand. Unfortunately for the boy he searches for things like I do which means there’s no chance of him ever finding the wand on his own. After a little coaxing, I lead him toward the area where I’ve planted the wand. Eventually, he spots it.

“MY MAGIC WAND!” he exclaims. Quickly, his smile fades.

“This isn’t my wand,” he says.

“What do you mean that’s not your wand,” I say. “Of course it is!”

Mason studied the wand carefully. “Nah, this one’s thicker.”

“Thicker? Mason, what are the odds that two magic wands have been lost here at the train?” I said.

“Nah. The ends are all wrong on his one,” he said, holding the wand up and looking through the end of it.

Keep in mind that the kid hasn’t seen his old wand in ten months. Scrambling for a way out of this one, I came up with this gem. “Maybe someone else found your old wand, felt bad about it, came back and left you their wand.” He seemed okay with that.

As Susan and I made our way toward the car with Morgan, I heard Mason shouting behind us.

“Dad! I lost my wand again!”

This time it was just the white end piece, which did manage to avoid landing on the magic shelf and worked its way out to the ground below. We snagged it and quickly ran to the truck, before the train could eat another wand.