The Motor Boy

John the "motor boy"was a kid around my age (6 or 7 at the time) about whom I knew nothing about. As I recall, he did not go to my school, I only heard others in the neighborhood mention him in passing conversation,usually derisive, about how weird he was. Seems he liked to make sounds like an engine, and preferred those sounds instead of speaking, which is how he received his nickname. Probably he was autistic, or had other issues, but what do 7 year old kids know? All they knew was that he was different, and thereby to be avoided. Back then (mid 60's) conditions like that were not discussed, everyone looked the other way.


So imagine my surprise when, on a summer's day, I found out he lived on the next block. This was discovered while walking home from a friend's house. I heard a peculiar sound, and as I passed a yard I saw a boy pushing toy trains around a table, all the while a motor sound coming from his mouth. I stopped and stared....there he was, in person. His eyes caught mine, and as they did he made a louder sound. I looked away and continued home, not quite knowing what to make of him, but I liked the trains he had!


I had trains too, my father's Lionel set, but I was curious to see John's trains. I would pass his yard and look to see if per chance he was out there playing. A few days later, he was, and I ran home and collected some track pieces, the locomotive, and a couple cars. I told my Mom I was going to go play trains with a new kid down the block and ran out of the house back to John's yard.


When I arrived, John was still playing. I didn't quite know what to do, so I just stood there waiting for him to notice me. When, after what seemed to be an eternity, he stared at me and made louder noises, seemingly agitated. Then I held up my trains.


That broke the ice. He ran up to the fence which separated us to get a closer look. His face broke out into a half smile. Without speaking, he reached for a train car. I held it away from him, the smile went away. He then grunted and motioned for me to open the gate and enter. I admit I was nervous and somewhat scared, but I did. Going to the table I set up some track and put my train upon it, he immediately began to push it around while his motor voice revved  nice and loud. I occupied myself with his trains.


I don't know how long we were playing (I tried to talk to him but he would not respond) when his Mom came out to the yard. She was probably taken aback to see me, but all I really remember is that she asked my name and where I lived, then went back into the house and came out a bit later with some lemonade. She offered me a glass and I accepted. She said I seemed nice and thanked me for sharing my trains with John, and that I was welcome back anytime.


My Mom asked me about my new friend, all I said was that his name was John and he liked trains too. I didn't say much else because I was afraid she would not let me go play with a kid that was "weird". She said that was nice, and if I wanted to ask him over it was OK with her.


I played over at John's 2 or 3 times a week, one day it was cars, the next trains. We seemed to be able to communicate, though I don't recall him speaking (at least not in complete sentences). For some reason it did not bother me, though my other friends did not know I played with him, I thought by telling them they would laugh at me.


Near the end of summer, John's Mom came to my house to talk to my Mom. I do not know the exact words that were spoken between them, as kids were not supposed to listen in on adult conversations ( at least in my family). So I kept my distance, waiting and wondering.
When she left, my Mom was smiling. She told me that I had done a nice thing by playing with John, his Mom said he hadn't any real friends at all. She also said that John's family was moving soon, in order for him to go to a special school that could help him talk.


I played with John a few more times, but the shorter days and the "For Sale" sign in front of his house foretold what was to come. Sure enough, one day his Mom told me they were going to move that weekend, the house was sold. 


John and his family moved away, I don't know where. His house and yard were now empty, awaiting a new family. But my memories were not empty, for that summer I had found a friend, and learned that the language of friendship is deeper than the spoken word. If you don't believe me, ask John the Motor Boy.