Transported: Part 3

Unexpected Accidents

One cold winter day when I was 9 years old I was in a bus accident. People always give me a slightly confused/slightly amused laugh when I tell them that. It's not that bus accidents are unheard of (or naturally funny), but I think perhaps since I grew up in such a small, safe little town, something like a bus accident is simply unexpected. Or maybe they laugh because we crashed into a garbage truck.

We were on our second to last stop, picking up Sarah P., on that cloudy morning. There must have been a sleet or ice storm earlier in the day because the roads were a lot slicker than usual, even for Wisconsin. We started to drive to our last stop, picking up a bit of speed, when a garbage truck ahead of us suddenly hit the brakes, and despite Lee's best efforts to stop, we slid into the back of the truck.

It's kind of a blur, what happened in that moment, which is probably due to the fact that I likely had a minor concussion. I remember after the initial impact throwing us forward I hit  the seat window with the right side of my head and it made a loud noise. And, yes, it hurt quite a bit. I actually cracked the window with my head! Then I became aware of the kids around me - some of the younger ones were crying, a few were trying to get people ready to use the emergency exit in the back, but most of us were just confused and slightly stunned. I noticed that the door flew off into a ditch, and for some reason I thought that was incredibly cool. Instead of checking if the people around me were okay, I instead found it more important to share this exciting observation with them. I had strange priorities as a kid.

We shuffled off the bus and went to a house in the neighborhood to wait while things got sorted out. Ambulances came and a few kids were taken to the hospital, as well as our driver. I should have gone too, seeing as I had a terrible headache from cracking the window, but I decided to keep that information to myself since I hated doctors (plus I didn't want to get in trouble for cracking the window).

We waited for far too long (in my impatient, 9 year old opinion) for the parents to arrive. All I remember from that time was being bored, the people who let us stay in their house being kind of cranky and smelly, and their afghan blanket. I don't know why, but that blanket just stuck out to me.

Most of the kids got to go home that day because they were traumatized, but not me. Noooo, I had to go to school. But I had a headache! I was traumatized, too! Everyone else got to go home! None of my reasons had any effect on my mother. She really didn't seem all that concerned that we had been in an accident and was more so irritated that she had to come pick me up and take me to school. Looking back, I probably should not have led with, "The door flew off into the ditch! It was so cool!" What can I say? I handle shock and trauma differently than most.

In the end, no one was badly injured, including our driver. I think there were a couple broken bones, some cuts and bruising, and of course my unofficial minor concussion, but thankfully there was nothing worse. It was a really strange accident that left me feeling a bit disoriented.

There have been a lot of accidents in my life. Some of them happy, some of them tragic, but most of them have been like this one was: disorienting, confusing...unexpected. These "it seems like a big deal when it happens but it's actually not that bad" situations pop up over and over again in my life. It's hard to remember that oftentimes these unexpected accidents won't turn my world upside down, at least not for long. They just appear abruptly and threaten the usual. They may cause bad headaches and disrupt your plans, but generally it's just a momentary inconvenience; a story that you'll tell down the road to get a small laugh.

Transported: Part 2

Unexpected Fun

I recently saw my beloved bus driver who took me and my sister to school 18 years ago. It's funny how someone you haven't seen in nearly two decades can suddenly trigger memories you thought were long forgotten. In my opinion, Lee was and is the best bus driver anyone could ask for, and I was so pleasantly surprised to see him pass by--older, but still the same sweet guy, bringing a smile to everyone around him.

When I was 9 (and maybe when I was 8 as well...those years tend to run together) I was lucky enough to be able to take the bus to school each morning. Now, normally taking the bus would not be seen by many as something that makes you lucky, but I had something that most other kids didn't - I had the best bus driver I could ever ask for.

On top of his cheery disposition, patience, and obvious love of his job, Lee stood out from the rest because he would always play games. Each morning Lee would give us trivia questions to answer on our way to school, mixing up the difficulty based on our ages and interests. Sometimes he even gave us candy when we got the questions right! There are few things I love to do more than play games, which has been true of me my whole life. I wasn't the only one who loved playing Lee's games each day - every student enjoyed the ride. Even on our bad days, it seemed like Lee knew just what to do to cheer us up. It was evident how much he cared about each and every one of us. He made going to school safe and fun, two things that school, for me, definitely was not. I have a lot of painful memories of school, but I also have so many wonderful memories of riding the school bus.

I made eye contact with Lee when I saw him the other day and I couldn't help but smile, and he of course smiled at me, but in a way that made me wonder if perhaps he remembered who I was. I wish I would have told him that I remembered him from all of those years ago. I wish I told him how much it meant to me that he made going to school a fun experience. I wish I told him how glad I was to know that after all these years there are still kids that are lucky enough to have him as their bus driver.

I hope that I can have that same kind of impact on others. I hope that someday, someone will think back and remember something I did to make their life a little bit better. I hope that after 18 years, someone will remember my name and say that I made their day a little more fun, and made them feel a little more safe. And I hope that more kids are lucky enough to have people like Lee in their life - people who really care about them and never stop bringing a smile to their faces.

Transported: Part 1

The concept of transportation has been on my mind this week. I've been temping for my school district's transportation office and it's brought back some surprisingly lovely memories and triggered some insightful introspection.
I only rode the school bus for a few years as a child, but I've realized that I actually have some decent stories and over the next few days I would like to share three of those with you.

Unexpected Absence

When I was five years old I would regularly take the bus home from school, but on special occasions my mom would come pick me up. Every afternoon my teacher would wait at the back entrance with the students to make sure we got on the right bus or left with a known guardian. But on one particular day my teacher put me on my bus and some time later my mother arrived to take me home. My teacher had forgotten that I wasn't supposed to get on the bus that day, and according to my mother, her face completely drained of color when she saw my mom and realized what she had done. My mother has told me that this was one of the most terrifying and infuriating moments of her life, as every possible terrible thing that could have happened to me as a result of taking the bus home like I did nearly every day raced through her mind.
I was one of the first kids dropped off on our bus route, and she knew that I would have gotten off the bus before she was able to get home, so you can imagine how scared she was when she got back and I was nowhere to be found.

My experience of this event was not nearly as terrifying. I remember walking up to the door and it being locked. I tried again, thinking perhaps I was not the strong, muscular kindergartener that I thought I was, but no, it was definitely locked. So I turned around and sat on the doorstep, confused, and slightly sad that I had been forgotten, but it never crossed my mind that something bad might happen to me as I sat there alone. In my eyes, everyone and everything was good and beautiful and there was no reason for someone to hurt me, so why should I worry? Luckily, my bus driver saw me sitting outside as he started to drive away, stopped, and told me to get back on the bus. He clearly had a less idealistic view of the world than I did. I didn't really understand why getting back on the bus was a good idea, but my friends were still there so I was happy to get back on and spend more time with them.

I think we don't realize how much we love someone until their life, or at least your relationship, is in danger. When my cat never came home one evening, when my friend was in a bad accident, when both of my parents had life-threatening illnesses - these were the times that I realized how deeply I cared about these people. The all encompassing fear of loss - that pit in your stomach...few things are as painful. I think it's the not knowing that makes the threat of loss this dark looming cloud that seems to take over your whole being, if only for a moment.  But that overwhelming relief when your loved one returns, or escapes danger, or recovers - that is a feeling I cannot describe. I think my mom felt 10 times that kind of relief when she saw me get off the bus the second time. I remember her crying and hugging me and giving my bus driver an outpouring of gratitude for keeping me safe. I didn't understand her reaction at the time, since I never felt scared, but it has stuck with me all these years.

The older I get and the more I experience the threat of loss, the more I realize just how much my mother loves me. Sometimes it's easy to "know" that someone loves you, but for whatever reason, it's difficult for you to actually experience the reality of their love. This is unfortunately true of my relationship with my mother most of the time, but looking back, this moment is a concrete experience of her love. I may not always understand the way the my mother demonstrates her feelings for me, but I cling to memories like these that prove to me how much she really does love me. I can only hope she has these kinds of memories of me as well.