Bus Drivers...a ride down memory lane

My Ella is preparing for Kindgerten. Last week, she attended "bus safety" at her new school.

It brought back some memories.

Back when I was growing up, the Catholic school had busses. I rode that damn bus from the time we moved to St. Louis (I was in the first grade) all the way through the end of 8th grade.

Let me give you a little history about my school bus. It was yellow, of course. This is a given. No seatbelts (please!), we had two bus drivers throughout all those years. Don, who was also the school maintenance man. A nice hippie of a guy with long hair, kind eyes and an easy manner. And Mr. Thomas, an older gentleman (and the grandfather of two of my good friends; twins MaryAnn and Michelle). Other than his grandkids, Mr. Thomas loved one thing...his cigars. He used to smoke 'em while he'd wait for that bell to ring at the end of the school day. And during the coldest months, those little rectangular windows would be all the way up, save for one, which he cracked to let the smoke out. Needless to say, it was not an effective outlet for all that carbon monoxide.

Back then, the Catholic schools separated boys and girls for everything - not just the bathroom breaks. We ate lunch at different tables, had separate gym classes, separate lines in which to walk to and from music class, rows in church...

But I digress. We even had a "boys' side" and "girls' side" on the bus. St. Joseph's elementary was damn sure not going to risk the potentially sinful outcome of the two sexes coming together in any way, shape or form (we saved that for high school).

A quick walk down memory lane to share with you the (rather innocent) story of how we used to torture poor Mr. Thomas...

Now, the way busses work (if you aren't privy to this knowledge already), is that the older kids sit in the back. So, Kg little ones sit in the very front of the bus, and we work our way back to the 8th grade hoods in the very back. In about the 5th grade, my friend Angie, and I decide that we don't much care for being relegated to the girls' side. The boys' side sure looked a lot more fun. So, here we are, about halfway back, on the right (girls') side, sharing a bench seat.

Above the driver's seat was a long, rectangular mirror, which Mr. Thomas took full use of to glance back at his charges every few minutes - just to make sure we were all behaving as good, Catholic schoolchildren should.

So, much like detainees will wait until the guard has just crossed their path before making a run for it, we wait for him to glance back at us. When he does, we are sitting politely, smiling angelically, hands folded in our jumper-clad laps. As soon as his eyes move back to the road....

We dash to the boys' side. "Hey! Move over! Whadaya think you're doin'?"

SHhhhhh! We say.

Then, just as angelically, we pop our heads up, sit quietly, smile politely straight ahead.

Mr. Thomas takes another quick glance in his mirror, looks back at the road, and...

We dash back to the girls' side.

He does a double take. Glaring at us now, sitting properly on the girls' side.

We do this several more times, before he realizes that he's not losing his mind, and that these two little girls might just be trouble makers.

We are sent to the Principal's office.

Good times.

Truly, this is about as "bad" as I behaved (at school, anyway).

Ella will be riding the school bus for the first time next Tuesday. And while there will be no boys' side/girls' side on her bus, I'm sure she'll make just as many memories. Meanwhile, I'll be trying to keep my eyes dry as I load her onto the bus for the first time. I may still be standing in the same spot - just waiting - when she is returned to me at the end of the day.

Thankful for the simple things

I've been traveling quite a bit for work lately. So, this past weekend I couldn't wait to get home and have a "normal" weekend with my kids. No unpacking, doing laundry till all hours of the night and then repacking for another trip. I was determined to enjoy our time together.

Jack had a soccer tournament that started Friday night. They won their first game, and Saturday morning we headed back out to Sport Port for the first of two more games. The good guys won 3-2, and were excited about their standings. As we loaded back into the car - Jack, Ella, and Jack's teammate Nick - I called my oldest son, Connor to tell him I'd be home in 20 minutes. I was hoping to spend a few minutes with him before he headed off to the Cardinal's game with a friend.

We turned onto the expressway and I came to a slow stop behind three cars at a red light. I glanced in my rearview mirror (a habit I'd picked up since I'd been rear-ended almost 10 years before), and had a moment of horrible deja vu'... A Ford Excursion was barreling down on us. It all happened within seconds - I turned my head to the right, and shot my arm out in front of Jack, who was sitting in the front passenger seat. I had no way to warn them, could do nothing to protect them. And then the squeal of tears, the impact, and all six air bags erupted in my Saturn Vue. The car filled with smoke from the airbags, and OnStar came over the speakers asking if everyone was okay.

I can't imagine how Connor felt when I called to tell him that I wouldn't make it home in time to see him after all. I imagine the same thought that went through my mind, went through his as well. What if? What if I hadn't been able to call? What if we just hadn't come home? While I talked to police officers, Jack stood on the side of the road holding his little sister. As I walked over to him, he leaned down, kissed the top of her head and whispered, "I'm so glad you're okay." Me too, buddy. Me too.

Thank God, my kids were okay. Minor scraps, a sprained wrist, a mild concussion, and sore neck were all the damage we sustained. The car was another matter - a total loss, the insurance adjuster told us later. I didn't care. Cars can be replaced.

This morning, five days after the accident, I stopped by my 10-year old's school for the Fall Fitness Day Pep Rally. I walked into a sea of red, white and blue. 700 kids from Kindergarten to 5th grade were dressed in their "team" colors. My son Jack, a fifth grader, wore blue from head to toe. Blue face paint, hair color and nail polish completed the look. The middle school band came over to play during the pep rally, which added to my pleasure, as my oldest son is in the band. Their little sister's Pre-K's class was also invited to join the festivities. She sat wide-eyed with her peers, hands clapping along to the music, looking around for her two older brothers, whom she knew were there - somewhere.

I stood with the other parents, watching each of my kids in turn. Connor, playing the clarinet, who knew I was there, but at 13, was not about to acknowledge me. Jack, who, when he saw that I was pointing my camera his way, lit up in a big grin, eager to show off his team spirit. And Ella, who waved me over every time our eyes met across the room.

As we all marched outside, Connor back to his middle school, Ella over to the PreK playground, and Jack, headed outside to battle the white and red teams, I soaked in the autumn sun, the cool breeze, and children's voices rising to a cloudless, blue sky. I raised my eyes upwards and whispered a "thank you." For the simple things, for the normalcy of it all. I am so blessed.