Corner Activity

Our house is half a block from a bus stop for neighborhood middle school kids. My retirement allows me the luxury of activity awareness so I know the pick-up and drop-off times for the bus. I know a little bit about the three kids who awkwardly await the arrival of the bus in the morning. The two boys usually pace sideways in the morning and murmur a few words to each other as they reposition backpacks and electronic devices. The young lady stays on the opposite side of the street, avoiding eye contact at all costs. There is a solemn nature to the morning pick-up ritual as the teens are just beginning to rub the morning sleep out of their eyes. Occasionally, I hear the pattering of sneakers as the young lady frantically runs toward the ready-to-leave bus, but for the most part the morning pick-up is rather sedate. The afternoon bus drop-off paints a different picture. There is an energy of step when the students are released from the yellow transfer tube and the kids jettison their way to their respective houses. This routine is set on repeat for each school day of the academic year.

Last week, the routine was disrupted. On a deliciously comfortable fall afternoon I heard the sound of screeching tires. I looked out my window and saw that the school bus had come to a complete halt in front of our driveway. I could see a few kids percolating within the confines of their space and as a former middle school teacher I could only imagine what was about to unfold. Soon enough I heard the voice of a very harried bus driver on the microphone. "You kids need to settle down and get your act together. I have had enough of this and don't forget, I KNOW THE PRINCIPAL!" At that, the bus continued a few feet down the street to the designated drop-off point. The bus doors creaked open and out popped our three neighborhood kids. They looked exhausted and quite relieved to be free from the antics of the bad apples in their midst. I experienced a moment of PTSD as I remembered all my years of bus duty supervision. I am not sad to leave that part of my life in my rear view mirror.

Growing up I experienced school bus riding only during high school. The pick-up point was at an elementary school and the high school students were shuttled to another school about fifteen miles down the road. Our schools were part of a network of parochial schools so the budget was very tight. Our bus was anything but posh and I don't think more than one heater ever worked in the winter time. Our generation was taught that "it could be worse" so complaining always fell upon barren ground.

We had a series of adult volunteer bus drivers in between the regular drivers. The regular drivers were students who were deemed old enough to do the job. I have no idea what the vetting process was but I suspect the parameters were broad. My teenage brain saw the situation as perfectly logical and we were only too happy to ride the bus with a peer at the helm. The angels of mercy looked kindly upon us and I do not remember any incidents of grave consequences. I do remember the growl of grinding gears on many occasions but that could have been worse.

Being a bus driver is not for the faint of heart and I send up a prayer of thanks for the fearless men and women who answer that call as they drive kids through rain, shine, sleet, road construction and impatient traffic. Give them a wave and a kind smile when you see them. They deserve it.

(Pro Tip: If the Lyman County yellow school bus passes you on the interstate, you may need to learn to be less of a slowpoke. Clearly, I do not live life in the fast lane.)