My New Mentor, Sir Topham Hatt
Finding themselves suddenly locked in the cold embrace of a mid-life crisis, many dads fantasize about what life would be like as Bill Gates, Brett Favre or, in especially desperate cases, Willard Scott.
Not me. I want to be Sir Topham Hatt.
Sir Topham, for those who need reminding, benevolently rules the imaginary Island of Sodor, where Thomas the Tank Engine and his many-wheeled cohorts reside.
Sir T. is all-powerful. Are you an engine in need of a new coat of paint? Only Topham Hatt can arrange it. Need to be pulled out of Sodor Bay because some coal cars pushed you into the drink? Topham can get a crane to help you with the snap of his fingers.
He’s the do-er, the fixer, the go-to man on the entire isle, at least among the community of trains and busses and helicopters he oversees.
That appeals to me. When I snap my fingers, the only result is a snapping sound. I hear it, but others appear not to. Perhaps I need a top hat, like my hero. It might lend me a certain authority. More likely it would lead to suggestions to learn more about my company’s Employee Assistance Program, or my children trying to knock it off with the nearest stick.
While certainly no royalist, I think it would not be a bad thing for middle-aged me to have a title, like Sir Hatt, or Sir Paul McCartney. “Sir James,” my wife might say, “we’re out of toilet paper.” It almost sounds elegant.
Beyond his title, I also covet Topham Hatt’s problems. His chief and only problem, as far as I can tell, is that occasionally his hat blows off and gets eaten by a goat. While this would cause me some consternation, it doesn’t rank with life’s big concerns, like how come the Buffalo Bills are having such a lousy season when they were picked to win the division? You think losing a hat is painful? Try losing four Superbowls in a row.
The Thomas the Tank Engine stories were originated by a Rev. Wilbert Awdry, which to me, at least, gives Topham Hatt’s demeanor and actions a certain clerical endorsement. It’s not stretching the truth too much to say that Topham’s activities are approved if not directed from on high. It is harder to discern God’s hand in my own activities.
For example, while cleaning the outside windows with the hose this past weekend, I caused the displacement, if not death, of dozens of spiders and their painstakingly built if unsightly homes. I’m not sure how Sir Hatt would have handled the situation, but I am sure he would not have tried to assuage his guilt later that evening with a belt or two of Wild Turkey.
Sir Topham’s wife, Lady Topham Hatt, is under the impression that Topham is overworked, despite all evidence to the contrary. She tries to whisk him away on off-island vacations whenever the opportunity arises. Unfortunately, these sojourns are often cut short, as our hero must return to solve some impossible problem the engines have caused. These are predicaments of such weight that they can only be trusted to one man, vacation or not. I take this lesson to heart: some things in life, like track repair, simply cannot be delegated.
I do not believe my own wife finds me to be overworked, especially at home, even though I cleaned the windows. That chore alone would have been enough for Lady Hatt to urge her husband to surf the web for a low airfare to St. Barth’s.
So once again, Sir Topham has managed to create a lifestyle, if not a mystique, that any middle-aged man would do well to emulate.
When I think of his life on that beautiful island…no Buffalo Bills, frequent holidays, ecclesiastical approval, bossing choo-choos around…it inspires me to create my own Sodor right here in the tri-state area. Like Topham, maybe I should accept my little paunch. No story I’ve yet read has him spending time on the elliptical trainer at the gym. Maybe I should accept that I’m never going to earn a title and just buy one. Maybe I should wear a top hat without concern for society’s approval or fear of goats.
These actions would surely see me through to the onset of my AARP years. Then, I’ll need to find another mentor.
I’m leaning towards Curious George.
