The sight of a big yellow bus still makes me smile, which is strange since I rarely rode the bus when I was a kid. I don’t remember if my kids ever rode the school bus, but I don’t think so. My entire opinion of the school bus is based on one memorable experience.
The day started out as poorly as a day possibly could. My mom, my brothers, and I had just moved into a new house. Nothing was where it should be, including the alarm clock, so we all woke up late. As quickly as possible, we bumped and bounced around getting ready, piled into the station wagon, and … CLICK. The car wouldn’t start.
This could have been taken as a sign to give up. An excuse to stay home for the day. We could have spent the day unpacking and getting moved in. I don’t remember the reason. Maybe it was the lure of extra credit or a pep rally—two things I loved about high school. Whatever the reason, I was determined to get to school, and I was going to drag my older brother along with me. I barked at my brother to follow me as I jumped out of the car. My mom and younger brother could figure it out for themselves. When we were moving in, I had noticed a school bus stop around the corner from where we lived, and the two of us made a beeline for it. We stood awkwardly with a group of kids we didn’t know, feeling uncomfortable, as teenagers often do.
And then it started to rain.
A few minutes later, the bus pulled up. When the doors opened, a soothing, velvety voice said, “Welcome aboard,” as if we were stepping onto a luxurious ocean liner. The air smelled like cinnamon and the driver … I later learned that her name was Dorothy … gestured us inside and offered us a Little Debbie pinwheel cake. Rows and rows of kids sat smiling and talking as classical music played through the crackly speakers.
The actual ride to school was only about fifteen minutes, but I still remember the simple things the driver did—greeting us with a smile, playing music, and making us feel welcome with a cellophane-wrapped cake. Those small gestures were just what I needed to turn the day around.
When the kids were little, I put silly notes in their lunchboxes. It wasn’t uncommon for us to turnhouse just for fun. Or pile all the sofa pillows on the floor and make a blanket fort to burrow into and read our bedtime stories. None of those things cost money, or even took much of an effort, yet those small moments of joy and laughter are some of my favorite memories.
Slowly, over time, the silly moments became fewer and farther between as the children grew up. Now that it’s just the two of us at home and without the kids as an excuse, I can’t imagine making a pillow fort.
When did I start taking myself so seriously? Yes, life can be difficult, but hasn’t it always been that way? Maybe it was even more so when the care and feeding of other humans was my responsibility.
Now I want the fun back.
It’s time to be the driver of the fun bus.
ohh..now I can't miss our breakfast!
I’ll tell you my comment on Tuesday 😉