What do I know about Zen? I know how to spell it. I know about Zen gardens: some sand, a rock, and a little rake to make lines in the sand. I’ve read Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. So, actually, I know very little about Zen, but I do know a little about school bus driving.

I’ve learned that school bus driving isn’t for the faint of heart. In saying this I don’t want to mislead you. School bus driving isn’t particularly dangerous. The children in our district don’t seem prone to violence or delinquency; but five days every week a school bus driver has to face the fact that for a two hours a day his will alone stands as the barrier between order and total chaos.

From my college freshman physics class I learned that the law of entropy has to do with ordered states naturally moving into disordered states. The law of entropy is especially apparent on school buses. On a normal day I can feel the energy on the bus contained in the kids behind me pushing and bending the space-time continuum.  It is my presence, and my presence only, that keeps a singularity from occurring. This is hardly fair. When Yoda or Professor Charles Xavier confront the forces of chaos and destruction they get to do so with their full attention. School bus drivers have to confront these forces while keeping both eyes on the road. Can Yoda wield his light-sabre magnificently while safely driving a school bus? No he can’t—not even with the help of a green screen.  Okay, I’ll give you that the students on the bus aren’t bending the metal like Magneto or using the Force to send other students flying through the air like Darth Vader, but with all the energy seething behind me almost anything could happen.

In my imagination I’ve looked up into the mirror to see sixty-five students sitting correctly in their seats talking quietly and happily to each other as they await their stop. That’s only been in my imagination. In reality I will look up into my mirror to see kindergarteners standing on their seats facing the back, middle-schoolers  with knees and heads out in the aisles so they can conference with kids on the other side of the bus, and high schoolers sitting high in their seats with their backs against the windows. Third graders will be singing about chickens farting, a fifth grader will be walking up the aisle to get a tissue, and hidden behind one of those tall seatbacks a fourth grade boy will be having a screaming contest with a fourth grade girl. This is what happens on a good day.

First and foremost a school bus driver has to worry about what is happening on the road. Other cars and trucks pose the greatest danger to the kids. In the event of an accident the kids have the potential of becoming flying objects injuring themselves and others if they aren’t sitting properly in their seats. Ironically, trying to minimize the “flying object” risk inside the bus increases the collision risk outside the bus by taking the bus drivers attention off the road.

My greatest challenge is trying to find an inner peace and composure with the energy on the bus so that I can keep my awareness level high on what is going on outside the bus. Some days I achieve what I call the Zen Zone. With quick glances in the mirror and efficient use of the intercom I am able to keep the energy on the bus reasonably contained while being aware of the car unexpectedly braking in front of me or the kids darting out into road. Other days the Zen Zone is harder to achieve and I become a surly curmudgeon snapping at the rule-breakers over the intercom while spending less attention on the road. Twice on these kinds of days I have grabbed the radio microphone instead of the intercom microphone and told all the other bus drivers to “turn around and sit down and don’t make me ask you again.”

The bad days happen when I start taking what is happening on the bus personally. Billy will suddenly leap into the aisle and meet my eyes in the mirror. He knows the rule about staying out of the aisle. He’s been told of the danger. Yet, for no apparent reason he steps into the aisle and stares at me. Is this not a personal challenge? It probably it isn’t. A simple, “Back in your seat, Billy” gets him to sit back down. Maybe his legs were cramped. Maybe he just wanted a little adult attention. I don’t really know. I do know that if I start taking the students’ rule infractions personally my driving becomes more dangerous. I tend to drive faster. I hurry to the next stop just so I can let more students off and be done with them. At some stops where I let up to seventeen off at once I feel the same relief as when a boil is lanced and drained.  This isn’t a healthy state-of-mind for a school bus driver. I’ve been learning that what happens on the bus really isn’t about me. The kids are just living their lives. I do have to enforce rules now and then to keep chaos at bay, but mostly all that energy is just being dissipated in friendly talk and laughter.

I carry quite a load of middle-schoolers. There is a lot of angst amongst this group. Even so there are a few who have enough self-confidence to talk to the bus driver. Most of them seem almost afraid that I might talk to them. It’s strange. They walk by and look the other way just as they reach me.  There are two girls who get off together at one stop. Several times I’ve said, “Bye” or “See you tomorrow” only to be ignored. I’ve seen them put their heads close together as they cross the street in front of the bus. I imagine they are saying “Can you believe he spoke to me? The nerve!” It’s a scene with the “mean girls” from a Disney movie.  One day I noticed that one of the girls was wearing a necklace with an old-fashioned bicycle hanging at the bottom. It caught my attention that such a young person would wear such a unique decoration. She was wearing it the next day as well. She got off alone on this day. As she passed I said, “That’s a great necklace. I love the bicycle.” I feared she might be offended that the bus driver liked something she wore. She mumbled something as she went down the steps. I didn’t catch what it was. As she crossed in front of the bus she ignored me as usual, but I saw her smile slightly and touch her necklace. Maybe she was pleased to have her necklace noticed? We’re not going to be friends anytime soon, but it made me feel good to know she heard me and didn’t resent it.

Today a third grade boy walked up the aisle at one of our stops and handed me a ticket. It was from the Nephi Police Department. Apparently I was in an oversize vehicle and the fine was $10,000. This would have disturbed me if the ticket wasn’t written on a lined sheet of paper torn out of a pocket notebook. It also helped that it was written in pencil in third grade handwriting. Do the creators of this ticket have it in for me? Are they wishing me ill? I can’t tell for sure, but the truth is I enjoyed their creativity. I saw them in the mirror watching me as I read the ticket. They were delighted by my mock consternation.

I drive more slowly now whether the bus is quiet or loud. Every-once-in-a-while I have to call a kid on a stunt he or she pulls, but mainly the noise I am hearing behind me is just the noise of kids growing up. I am capable of giving someone the “eye” to influence them to “stop it,” but I am just as capable of being   a cheerful “hello” and a “smile” in their day whether they like it or not.