Bus Trips

Last week I chaperoned my 6th graders to the Sherman Lake YMCA camp for three days of team building activities and character education lessons.  This is my 26th year taking the kids to camp but my first year riding along in the bus.  Weeks earlier, my teaching partner, Jody, and I had reviewed in horror the camp duty assignments passed along by our principal.  “Ride the bus?  We’ve never had to ride the bus!” we groused for all the days leading to our trip.   We had enjoyed years of driving our own cars to camp.  Ah, the quiet solitude of being in our own cars, the freedom to pull off for a coffee drink, and the trunk space to squirrel away that extra sweatshirt, a more comfortable pair of shoes, and a much needed can of bug spray.

Needless to say, I did not relish the prospect of my bus trips.  I was right to fear these daily treks to and from camp on our 45 minute drive each way.  The kids were loud and unruly, the driver was salty, and the route was full of bumps and curves.  Amidst these less than stellar conditions, however, something special emerged.  Something I hadn’t expected.  It started the very first morning.  After getting the kids settled and counted on the bus, I spun around the aisle to look for a place to sit.  An empty spot next to a quiet young lady I didn’t know well became my home for the morning ride.  I arranged my backpack in our seat, after slipping the attendance clipboard in the front, took a deep breathe, and turned my head to greet my bus seat partner.  She was intently kneading a ball of putty.  I think I said something uninspired like, “Putty, eh?”  Her kind, blue eyes looked up at me and she replied, “It helps calm me down,”   Momentarily I was taken aback by her frankness, her honesty.  I nodded slowly and said, “Are you anxious about going out to camp?”  She launched, telling me all about the many things that have made her uneasy.  A bully at her old school and the recent move to Vicksburg were high on her list of stresses.

We talked and talked for the whole ride.  The conversation drifted from her stress to her hobby of making putty, slime, soaps, and candles.  Somehow our conversation moved to chatting about families.  She told me she was adopted and I shared with her how my son, Lucas, is adopted.  I told her how much I wanted to be a mom and how I forget he is adopted because he is MY baby, born from my heart.  I told her how much I liked talking to her when the bus pulled up to the camp.  We hugged and she joined the river of kids heading to the main lodge.

The next morning I was leading my group out to bus #4 and she ran over to hand me a little bag of goodies–a chapstick, a bottle of lotion, and a candle–all made by her.  I cooed over all her hard work as we boarded the bus.  After taking attendance on the bus, I scanned the seats looking for my new little friend with the kind heart.  I couldn’t find her right away.  And then I discovered why.  She was sitting with a fellow classmate, a new friend.  As I passed her seat, she glanced up and gave a little smile.  She was going to be just fine in Vicksburg, her new school.

And I, too, was going to be just fine on that bus because a bus ride, after all, gave me something for which I always long–more time to connect with my students.