I’ve never prided myself on my memory. In some odd ways I have a great memory. I can remember the plotlines of movies I watched 50 years ago. Ironically, I struggle with people’s names. I like people. People are important to me. That’s because I am one of them. Yet, in the grocery store I will have people come across me in an aisle, greet me by name, and chat. While we are talking, I’ll be wracking my brain for any memory of them to no avail. I am not famous in any way, so I don’t know why the person speaking to me knows my name and I don’t know his. I feel bad when this happens because the person speaking to me is usually very friendly and a person I would like to know. I wonder what is wrong with me. You would think this problem would make it hard to be a bus driver where I have so many children’s names to remember. Surprisingly, when it comes to the bus, remembering names is something I do pretty well.

Learning the names of all my bus kids is no small feat. After all, there are eighty of them. Learning their names doesn’t happen all at once. This year I began a new route. I didn’t know even one of the children getting on my bus. As I looked in my mirror at the animated faces of so many kids my heart sank. Learning their names seemed an impossible task. Not one to give up easily, I searched for a way to make the impossible possible.

First, I have to get all their names on paper. This is a matter of procedure for bus drivers in our district. At the beginning of the year we hand out sheets to the students to be taken home that requests names, ages, grades, addresses, and telephone numbers. Getting all of the sheets back is no easy task and is never fully successful. But when I start giving out candy bars for a returned sheet, things begin to happen.

Now that I have all the names in my hand, I still have the problem of figuring out which name goes with which face. Since the Rider sheet organizes names by stops, I am able to compartmentalize certain names to certain bus stops. This helps immensely. Two or three weeks drag on as I try to make connections between a face and a name. It’s important for me to say the name out loud as I see the child get on the bus. This would be no big deal except that the kids hear my struggle and don’t understand it.

“Um, what’s your name again?” I ask the kid with blond, curly hair. The look of disappointment on his face is heart-breaking and aggravating. Heart-breaking because clearly my not knowing his name has hurt his feelings. Aggravating because he’s too young to understand that he’s just one of eighty kids I’m trying to keep straight.

“Your name is McKell? I ask a second grader with freckles and a bob.

“NO!” she yells and walks back to her seat in a huff without telling me what her name is.

Once, in my frustration, I yelled back, “Do you know everyone’s name on the bus?” She actually stopped and considered. It was clear she didn’t. Still, she didn’t give me a break and climbed into her seat with a tired sigh.

I finally had to resort to my old trick to get the kids to help me more—candy bars. As the kids got off the bus, if I said their name right, I would give them a Hershey Bar. If I couldn’t say their name without their help, no candy bar. This motivated them to tell me their names and help me find a way to remember them. I didn’t make a general announcement, but after the first couple of candy bars were given out word spread fast. Kids were stopping at my seat and looking at me intensely. If I couldn’t remember a child’s name, she was motivated to tell me and not just walk away angry. This was very effective in reaching my goal. Now I know all their names—all eighty of them.

Being able to call them by name isn’t just a party trick. It’s important. When I see someone misbehaving while I’m driving, it’s important to be able to say their name to get their attention.

“LeeAnn. Turn around and sit down!” I say into the intercom. She whips around and plops into her seat.

What is even more important is the moment of self-esteem hearing their names gives them. They know they’ve been seen and acknowledged.

At the elementary school in the morning as they are all trundling off the bus, I’m busy watching them in my mirror as they file forward. That’s when I’m calling out their names (before they reach me and turn their backs to go down the steps).

“Have a good one, Sara.”

“See you later, Aaron.”

“Careful on the steps, Maycee.”

“I love the earrings, Cali.”

Most don’t say anything in return—they don’t even look at me—a but the look on their faces tells me they heard their name and feel good about that.

When the end of the line of kids is nearing I see a little gal with blue eyes and two buns on top of her head. I know her but her name won’t come to mind. I call out the name of the boy in front of her, but then hesitate as I struggle for her name. The girl slows down almost imperceptibly as she nears me. Her body language tells me that she really wants to hear her name before she passes. It’s a great relief to me when her name suddenly flashes into my mind.

“Charley,” I say, warmly.

Just like that her face brightens, her pace quickens, and she is off to school.

Yes, knowing their names is important.

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These books by Tory Anderson are now available on Amazon in Kindle and paperback format: