the bus

My son has had a lifelong dream. I mean, really. Since he first played with a toy bus, and we'd point them out on the road in passing, he has been entranced, wanting to ride one. Badly. At a young two years old, tears would ensue, tantrums would be thrown, and a little heart would bust open every time a big yellow bus drove by. There was simply nothing his mommy could do to put him on it. "Someday," I'd say, with abundant apologies and wondering if I'd be able to fulfill that vague promise. At that time, we did not know what school we would have him attend, or if a bus would be an option at all.

Of course, the desire to ride a bus brought a desire to go to school. So, as a little enticement toward potty training, I told him he had to go in the big potty before he was allowed to go to school ("Teachers are too busy to change a diaper!"). It was a little motivator, but he was still a good three years old with mommy expecting baby #2 before he potty trained. And he held me to my promise: "Mommy, when do I go to school?" He wanted to go to school so bad he could TASTE it. And so we signed him up for 3 year old preschool at a church one mile from the house. He was so happy.

Then he discovered he would not be riding a big yellow bus to school. Ouch. Only half the dream was coming true, and the best part was the part being left out. My mother had the genius solution that held like glue for the year and half he went to that school. He rode the little white school bus (that parked in our driveway). Now, my son has a frightening sense of drama and loves to pretend--given there is someone to participate with, of course. Daily, he would kiss me good-bye at the door (and later, his baby sister as well), then trot off to "the bus" to greet his "bus-driver" (one of my many hats, I suppose). After Miss C was born, he would routinely ask the "bus-driver" if his sister could please ride along to drop him off.

When we registered Little B for school and he learned he could ride a bus each morning, you could see the fulfillment of a dream in his eyes. Last week, he wanted to ride on his first day, but I was adamant about taking him to his room. I'm glad, too, as he looked so little and lost and I got to hug him an extra time before he walked into that new world; also, the teacher was by the door to take his picture, so took it of us together.

But, Friday morning--oh, he was so ready to ride that bus at last. There was glee shining from his eyes as he climbed the steps. And since we live on a street with a cul-de-sac, I saw them drive back by the other way, and caught a glimpse of his sweet face through a window, leaning forward, hanging on for dear life as the bus jerked him around on his seat, trying to absorb every nuance of this experience his entire soul had longed for. I hope one day he writes, and that he will write of that experience with words a five year old cannot come up with so I can see it through his eyes at last.

Today, just as happily, he trounced off to the bus, eager to start his journey into his day. I pray each day holds that joy for him. I long for a delightful year and only the average number of "off days" any child would have. I hope he enjoys his journey through life, starting with each morning. . .