The not-so-magic school bus

I read this week that the West Virginia county I live in is implementing a bus-tracking system so parents and teachers can see the school bus’s location in real time along its route. Like everything these days, it’s an app for your smartphone or iPad. Parents and schools can track the bus and even see its location on a map.

Technological advancement? Pshaw!

I can’t help but think about how much knowing exactly when the bus would pull up in front of our house would have completely changed my childhood. Sure, it would have reduced the anxiety. But anxiety builds character, right? Plus, it would also have ruined the fun for us Carty kids every morning.

Mom worked night shifts, so Dad was in charge on school mornings. He got us up and saw to it that we each ate a bowl of cereal. Then the four or five school-age siblings (depending on the year) would wait quietly on the couch for the bus to pull up. Ha! Not quite!

Most mornings, we were dashing around like maniacs, trying to find our shoes, books, homework, and jackets while occasionally glancing out the front window. We were watching for the bus's lights as it came over the railroad tracks. Whoever spotted it would proclaim “There it is,” the designated signal to head out the door.

It was a running joke for someone – usually Dick, the oldest – to look out the front window and say, “There it... isn’t.”  We would jerk our heads up from our searching, or start to get up from the couch, then stop and groan in unison. We fell for that same prank day after day.

Once the bus actually crossed the railroad tracks, just a block from our house, we would all start for the door, with or without our belongings. You could always hop on one foot and put on your other shoe on the bus, but the driver expected us to be out there waiting as he pulled up and swung the door open. If we weren’t out there, he would stop for a few counts, sound the horn, and then move on.

I remember a couple of times running to the railroad tracks to catch the bus before it left our two-block community. I’m sure that was frowned upon, but it wasn’t as bad as missing the bus.

With Dad in charge of getting us on the bus, we did NOT want to miss it. Dad was not a chauffeur, and he would not want to go four miles out of his way to drive us to school. And we would surely not want to listen to him tell us how stupid we were for not being ready in time. There’s absolutely no scenario where he would assume any of the responsibility... he seldom passed up an opportunity to blame one of us. If one of us spilled a drink at the dinner table, Dad would point and say, “I knew it would be you!” We would have preferred to go to school barefoot than be subjected to the Wrath of Ray for the four-mile drive to school. 

Even as an adult, I have dreamed about missing the bus. And of course, going to school naked, but who doesn’t have that nightmare?

In the rural area where we lived, most, if not all, of the school bus drivers were farmers. They drove the buses as a part-time gig between working out in the fields and most of them kept the buses parked on their property. After dropping us off at school, they would do their farm work, then get back on the bus in the afternoon to return to the school to bring us home.

Our bus driver for Ernie Pyle Elementary was one such farmer. I can’t recall his name, but in my memories, I like to call him Red. He was a tall man, probably in his fifties, and was both stern and friendly. Sort of a grandpa you didn’t want to disappoint.

We had a lot of dogs growing up. They seemed to just show up and then later disappear. One morning, our new little pup started up the steps to get on the bus with us. Red laughed and said, “Oh no, Pooch, dogs can’t come to school.”

My mouth fell open in astonishment. How did this old bus driver/farmer somehow know our dog’s name was indeed Pooch?  I also had no idea that "Pooch" was another word for "dog.” I thought we had named him after our Uncle Chuck, whose nickname was Pooch. That’s just a glimpse of how ignorant I was and how badly I needed to get on that bus and go get educated.  

Another morning ride, some kid made the mistake of sitting next to the girl who my brother Alan liked. Being the ever-protective big sister – with a speech impediment – I grabbed the kid by the shoulder and guided him off the seat, saying, “Dat’s my bwudder’s seat.” Alan smiled at me and sat down next to his little romantic interest.

In my childhood, the bus was the only way to and from school. Unlike today, when it seems so many kids have a personal chauffeur, who also serves as a parent or grandparent. I’m sure you’ve seen those long school zone lines. I know of parents who sit in their cars for hours to be at the front of the pick-up line. This is not an exaggeration.

Riding the bus was also a time to socialize, wake up a little more before school, and unwind after school. Today’s chauffeured kids are missing out on all that. But then they are probably handed a snack and a cold drink by their chauffeur-mom as soon as they get into the car.  

For me, riding the bus was mostly an enjoyable experience. However, going to the same school from kindergarten through eighth grade meant I eventually became one of the oldest students on the bus, which made it a little less enjoyable. Those little shits could be rowdy on the way home, especially.

Near the end of my eighth-grade year, there was one particularly noisy ride home. Before stepping off the bus, I turned to the rambunctious rugrats and yelled, “Quiet!” And the little shits got quiet. Red looked at me, smiled, and nodded a thank you.

I had come a long way from that stupid kid who didn’t know pooch meant dog. I was pretty sure Red was going to miss me.

There was a different bus that picked up the high schoolers, and luckily for me, my sister Lynn was two years older than me and had a job after school. When she got her driver’s license, I got to ride with her.

Our younger siblings continued the tradition of the hectic mornings of scrambling for belongings. They still didn’t have backpacks for their books and homework. They still didn’t know where their shoes were. And because they didn’t have an app to show them the exact time the bus would be crossing the railroad tracks, they continued the tradition of tricking each other that the bus was coming with the good old “There it... isn’t.”

The kids today don’t have all that fun. If they do ride the bus, they have backpacks their moms packed the night before, next to their shoes and jackets. Plus, they all have their school iPads and can see the bus on the app to know exactly where it is.

Where’s the fun in that?