What I learned as the daughter of a railroad man

By Nancy Colasurdo

(This column was originally published on NJ.com on 9/19/22.)

“Nan, how about a cup of java?” I can still hear my late father saying the words.

So while visiting my mother recently and making myself an afternoon cup of coffee, I selected from the cabinet Dad’s white mug with the blue Conrail train emblazoned on it. In his retirement, we had developed a habit of enjoying that time when I visited, and it soothed me to sip from his mug.

Dad spent 19 years working for the railroad and took immense pride in it. I mean, the mere mention of trains lit him up.

He died last year at age 90. I respect him too much to try to characterize his experience working in our nation’s railroad system and I won’t speak for him without being able to ask his views on what’s happening with the current rail negotiations.

But I will share my lived experience as the daughter of a railroad man.

Dad’s time working as a brakeman on trains started in the 1970s and ended in the ’90s. It spanned my teens to my 30s. I remember the job bringing a level of financial stability to our family because my hardworking blue-collar father had landed at a place with roots and tradition.