Something tells me she could hold her own on the bus. Or anywhere else for that matter.
My little lovey, Ava, is about to start kindergarten. I’m anxious and excited and nervous and in denial all at once. I think she’s all of these things, too. Luckily, Ava is a pretty strong and independent little girl. Although she has her bouts of nerves and separation anxiety, I can see in her eyes that she is excited to go out into the world on her own. She gets to ride the bus to school, too. That is what she’s most excited about. I always hated riding the bus.
When I was in kindergarten, I rode the bus home on the first day of school. My older brother wasn’t there (I found out later it was because he was in detention) to sit with me or show me where to go. I was such a skiddish little kid. My parents’ hands-off approach to parenting forced me to be independent when all I ever wanted was to be coddled. This was one of those times where the confusion between want and reality clashed severely.
As the bus turned off the main road in to our long, winding country neighborhood, I recognized all of the houses we passed. I recognized the small horse properties and the mobile homes and the sprawling estates. It was a mixed bag of social status. The bus stopped several times along the road. As we approached the long driveway on our property, I gathered my stuff to get off when the bus stopped. But the bus didn’t stop. Maybe she’ll come back this way because the house is on the other side of the street? That is what my five year old logic told me. But she didn’t. Eventually I fell asleep. I don’t know how long I rode that bus, but I was awakened by the sweet driver lady when we got to her house at the end of the run. I was scared and alone and I didn’t know how to tell her who my parents where or what our phone number was.
I remember her calling the school and talking to someone as I ate Spaghetti O’s at her kitchen table. She was very sweet. I don’t remember how I got home, but I do remember being yelled at for not getting off the bus at our house. It was a traumatic experience that set the stage for 12 years of hating the bus. It was also another of my many life lessons in how not to parent your children.
In 2012, I wonder if I ever would have made it home? I’m fully prepared to follow Ava’s bus to and from school every day. I could never imagine what she would do in the same situation. But I do know, as a parent, I would hug and squeeze and cry and love on her when I found her safe at the end of the day.
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