He’s strange boy. Just enough to take him out of the running of every being “cool” or “popular.” Well, maybe a little more strange than that. He’s the kind of boy that can be purposefully annoying. Sometimes he would get on the bus and make “cat fight” noises—repeatedly. He’d stop when I asked him too, but it wasn’t easy for him. Other kids avoided him. That didn’t appear to make him feel bad. He was always full of energy and expression.

A couple of  years ago I went to a fathers and sons outing one evening. John happened to be there with his father. I took the opportunity to speak with his father and become acquainted. He was a little reserved, but friendly overall. He was returning to school and working on a degree that would give him good prospects. He clearly loved his son even as he watched him doing somersaults on the lawn while making weird noises.

A few months later John was sitting near the front. He wore his usual air of nonchalance as we chatted.

“How’s your father?” I asked.

“He’s in the hospital,” John said.

Surprised, I asked him what was wrong.

“He tried to kill himself.”

John told me this in the same manner he might tell me about the cartoons he watched on Saturday. It was totally possible that he was making it all up. A slight hesitation in his voice, and a detail he threw out, suggested that just maybe he was telling me the truth. I told I was sorry and didn’t pursue it anymore.

Weeks later I inquired if his father was back on his feet. John said, “Sure,” and acted like nothing had happened at all. I was happy to hear that.

A year later John had changed schools. I was picking him up at a different stop. He was that same John, older, but still a little loud and annoying. Once again he sat behind me. I wondered if his Dad had finished school yet.

“He’s sleeping with the dead cats,” he said.

“What was that?” I asked. I didn’t understand the reference.

“He’s dead.” He told me this simply, flatly as if telling me the weather is a little cooler today.

I was speechless for a moment. His manner suggested nothing was wrong. His words told me everything was wrong. I just couldn’t tell if he was telling me the truth.

“What happened?” I chanced.

“He was sick for a long time and didn’t wake up one morning.”

I was searching for any signs of pain or discomfort on the subject so I would know what to say or to say nothing at all. I got nothing from him. I asked a couple more questions and found out it had just happened. They were still trying to figure out which cemetery to bury him in.

As before, his manner through me off completely. I had heard no news of this through the bus or community grapevine, but again he threw out a couple of details that indirectly confirmed what he was saying. This was devastating news, yet he was completely self-composed.

I told him how I had lost my dad a year before. My dad was old and ready to die. He had lived a good life and he and I had no regrets between us. I knew he was going to die any day. I thought I was ready. When the call came I was surprised when I cried for an hour straight.

I don’t know if this story was helpful or annoying to him. When I finished telling it he nodded and simply said, “Uh huh.”  

I learned I had his little sister on the bus the other day when I heard someone making  loud, repetitive cow noises. When the kids pointed her out I realized there was a resemblance to John. I asked her and she confirmed my suspicion. She sat near me today and I chanced a question about her father’s health.  She was confused by my question, but then she brightly told me her dad was fine and running a business. Well, that helps me understand John a little better.

John’s still on my bus and still the same John. I’m not quite the same bus driver, though. Anymore I see John as more than the slightly annoying kid. In fact because of John I see all the kids at slightly more than face value. It’s not like I fully understand what I’m seeing. It’s just that I have a sense of the existence of the untold stories behind their sometimes moody, often emotionless faces.

I’ve come to realize that if you apply a single label to a child you are doing him and yourself a disservice. Every student who rides my bus is far more than what I see. This knowledge doesn’t make driving a bus any easier, but it does make it more meaningful. I’m not angry at John for deceiving me; I’m happy he still has a father.

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