Tag Archives: memoir

Bus Driver Diaries: Sixth Grade Love

Most people think that being a school bus driver is difficult because of the children. Perhaps that’s what the new substitute bus driver meant the other day when we were talking. He said, “There’s more to it than I thought.”

It’s true, the children take bus driving from just being the operator of a long, yellow vehicle to something infinitely more complex. At the same time the children take bus driving from something that quickly becomes mundane (like driving a semi), to something infinitely more interesting.

I drive all grade levels on my daily route. You may think that the middle school or high school kids would be the most troublesome. That’s the idea I had in my head when I started. I quickly learned from experience that it’s the grade school kids who try your patience the most. I would be rich if I had a dime for all the times I yell “sit down,” and “get out of the aisle.” And this is with a fairly good set of kids. Ironically, these same grade school kids are also far more fun than the older students.

The other day a little sixth grader named Jonie got on the bus. I say “little” not just because of her age, but also due her short stature. Jonie doesn’t ride all that often. Usually, when she does ride she rides with a couple of her girlfriends. This group of girls naturally separates itself from the boys and sits together toward the front of the bus. On this particular afternoon her friends weren’t with her. Jonie is a social girl, and without her friends she gravitated to the back of the bus with sixth grade classmates, almost all of them boys.

I wasn’t aware of her location until I heard the singing start up—a hearty rendition of “The Wheels on the Bus.” It was so hearty that I found it annoying all the way at the other end of the bus. The kids in the middle of the bus found it so annoying that they put their hands over their ears.

I checked my mirror and saw the familiar group of boys grinning as they sang even louder. This was unusual behavior. They always sit in the back. I’ll hear talking, teasing, and laughing, but never singing. It was then I spied a few wisps of blonde hair sticking up above the seat among the boys. Today they had inspiration.

Joanie has glowing blonde hair and sparkly blue eyes. Her skin is as fair as her hair. Her short height multiplies her cuteness by ten. Although small and pretty, Joanie isn’t prissy. On a field trip last spring I watched her doing backflips on the grass in the park. It was no wonder that with her unexpectedly in their midst the boys were showing off.

The singing continued with “Once There Was a Snowman” and then a belated “Jingle Bells.” Oh, they did sing loud. The younger kids in the middle were miserable. They made everything even more miserable by trying to make there be less noise by making more noise. They appealed to me to make the kids in the back stop singing. I seriously considered it, but when I checked my mirror again the smiles on the faces of the sixth graders were so big that I couldn’t bring myself to kill the fun. It helped that I knew most of the kids would be getting off in three minutes, anyway.

At Happy Stop Number 1 twenty-five kids exited the bus. Each one complained to me on the way out. I felt for them just a little, but what they have put me through in rides past checked my sympathy. At Happy Stop Number 2 another twenty-five students exited the bus. Again, more complaints. I just smiled and waved. Secretly I was as relieved as they were at the now quiet bus.

There were only eight kids left on the bus now. They moved to the front because I don’t like the elementary kids mixing with the high school kids, who I would be picking up next. Four of those left were sixth grade boys. Three of those were guests of one of my regulars. They were going to his house for a sleep over. Joanie was still on and still in the middle of the boys. She was glowing from the attention.

“How did you like our singing?” asked one of the boys.

“It was just like the Mormon Tabernacle Choir,” I said.

They smiled at this. I saw them take in a breath to begin again.

“But I think we’ve sung enough for now,” I added. There was no way I could take their enthusiasm so close to the front. They were disappointed for about a second, before they lost themselves in light banter and teasing.

I picked up and dropped the majority of the high school kids before heading out into the country where Jonie and the boys were going. At Jonie’s stop, which was the end of her driveway, her overgrown puppy sat waiting for us. He knew Jonie was getting off, but didn’t know where the door was. The black lab puppy loped along the wrong side of the bus, tail wagging, in search of his girl.

“Watch out,” I said, as Jonie went down the steps. “Your dog is coming.” I had watched before as her puppy, happy to see her, jumped up on her. He’s taller than her when he does that. She has to use karate moves to survive. She took my warning seriously and looked both ways before jumping off the bottom step. That was when her puppy came around the far end of the bus and saw her. She ran, but the puppy easily caught her.

The boys were watching with great interest. When Jonie crossed in front of the bus they all moved in a group from one side of the bus to the other. I heard a window slide down and cheering as Jonie took evasive action. It was no use. The dog’s loving enthusiasm overwhelmed her. In spite of it all she was grinning as she struggled with the puppy. Her hair shone in the afternoon sunlight as did her fair skin. The attention of cheering boys made her glow even more.

She escaped and I started up the road. The boys closed the window and sat down. The scene reminded me of the simple sweetness of sixth grade love. Young crushes from my youth emerged from lost memories. Now that Jonie was gone the bus darkened a little as if the sun had gone behind a cloud. Even so, the glow from the scene still warmed my heart.

I have driven that afternoon route hundreds of times. It has almost become automatic. On cloudy days, when the route seems a little long, the image of the glowing girl and the sound of the cheering boys comes back to my mind and makes my world a little brighter.

 

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

     

Bus Driver Diaries: We Still Play Our Games


It’s been seven years and I am still driving bus. I was hoping this wouldn’t happen. The plan was to drive bus for a short while and then move on to bigger and better things. I haven’t given up on that plan yet. In the meantime I’m trying not to fall into a rut.

Some of my fellow drivers, mostly women, have been driving over twenty years. They are fine drivers and get their children to school and back home safely. I respect that. I listen to what they say and learn what I can. But some of them look tired. Like many people who get up and go to work every day, their job is a job they have to do. There is no fun or growth involved. For as long as I have to do it I refuse to let bus driving be just a job. I refuse to get bored.

In my book Bus Driver Diaries: Stories From the Driver’s Seat (available on Amazon) I write about the games I play with my kids in order to stay out of a rut. I’ve been playing one for a couple of years now. To this I’ve added another.

Lucky Seat Number

I have seat numbers posted above every seat.  This was originally to aid in assigning seats to my students. On paper this is a good idea. In practice, for me anyway, it is difficult to implement and even harder to maintain. It negates the good I may get out of it.

Instead I use the numbers to call out the Lucky Seat Number each day. Whoever is sitting in that seat gets to come up and get a stick of licorice. Sometimes it’s one kid. Sometimes it’s three. It’s such a simple thing, but it’s a hit with the kids. The very first kids to get on the bus each day are begging me to tell them the lucky seat number so they can go sit in it. I’m mean. I don’t tell them. After the majority of the kids are on they start to yell, “Lucky seat number! Lucky seat number!” It sounds like I’ve created a problem, but I’ve turned it around. I begin a countdown from five. They know that if they are not sitting and quiet there will be no game. Also, we have to finish the game before the buses begin to roll. It works. Even more, it’s fun.

State Capitals

I love to teach. Nothing pleases me more than to see a child’s eyes light up when they gain a new understanding or perspective. I can’t do too much teaching as a bus driver, but what little I can do, I do do.

Years back I found a website that my children loved. It helped them learn all the capitals of the United States. Recently, when I ran into a boy on my bus who knows a large number of the capitals, I had an idea. None of the other kids seemed to know any of the capitals except that of their own state. I couldn’t play the game with just one boy so I expanded it a little.

I pick a different student’s name each day. Then I get on the intercom and say, “Ricky, if Bradley can tell me the capital of Maine you can have a piece of licorice.” Of course if Bradley (the boy who knows many of the states) gets it right, he gets a piece of licorice, too. I remind the winner to thank the boy who won the prize for him.

This has been a bigger success than I imagined. A few other students have begged me to let them be the one to name the capital. They want the fun of showing off their knowledge. Of course they also want a piece of licorice. I am surprised at their knowledge. I think others are studying state capitals now.

I’ve added a clause that says if the person to receive the gift licorice just happens to know the capital in question without the help of the boy whom I call on, he or she will get a candy bar. I’ll have to be careful with this to make sure it doesn’t break me if the kids really start learning their capitals.

Conclusion

It took several years, but bus driving has become routine for me. I’ve seen kids grow from first to the eighth grade. Still, it has not gotten boring. Kids who used to sit in the front and ask me to tell them stories have grown to sophisticated middle schoolers now and sit in the back. But there are new kids I am discovering who want to talk with me. And we are still playing our games.

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