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It began on his first birthday, when my sister gave him a battery powered engine and a set of cars for it to pull. He wanted desperately to push it around on its blue plastic track, but it was little too large and awkward for him to manipulate well. Seeing his frustration, I picked up a set of wooden tracks and a small, red engine that fit into his hand. He still had trouble putting the tracks together, but once they were down, he was able to push the engine around the figure eight pattern with ease. Even better, the red engine was small enough that he could take it with him in his little hands, to the dining table, to bed. It immediately became a prized toy. entered our house, all other toys were forced aside. If you are the parent of a child born in the last decade, then you need no explanation as to who Thomas is. If you’re not a parent, there’s at least a chance you haven’t heard of him, although his near ubiquity is such that I think it’s unlikely that even the childless can escape his influence. But, for the sake of the ignorant, Thomas the Tank Engine is a marketing juggernaut that began life as a series of charming stories authored by an Anglican vicar in the 1940s. Not that anybody really remembers those original stories (seriously, just TRY to request a copy of the books at Barnes and Noble, just try it!) because in the last 20 years (and especially the last 10), the Thomas “brand” has well and truly eclipsed them. Thomas now lives through computer animated cartoons, poorly written films, cheaply made pajamas. And cute little wooden trains. Or, at least, that's how it seems to have gone with Bryce. Because once Thomas arrived, the trains were no longer toys, but rather, they became peers. Suddenly, Bryce and the trains were inseparable. He carried at least one around the house with him at all times, would demand one for every car trip, slept with one at night in place of a teddy bear. We gave him several more...