My father, Tata, was a train engineer, when my brother Niko and I were young and on holiday from school, he used to let us go with him. We were so proud of him. We would take turns sitting on his lap as he drove the train, pretending that we were the engineer ourselves. He would let us wear his hat, and at each of the railway crossings we would pull the chain, sure that nothing could sound as wonderful to our ears as that whistle did.
When we weren't with our father in the engine, we would run from one end of the train to the other, proudly telling everyone who would listen that it was our father who was the engineer. Looking back on it now, I'm surprised that we weren't thrown off the train by someone, as wild as we were some days. We would chase each other from one end of the train to the other, we'd be climbing around in the baggage car or getting under the cook's feet in the dining car looking for hand-outs. Those are the kinds of memories I always hoped my children would know, and while Jasna and Marko never got the chance, I pray that Joe will.