Not the bus I remember
Man, where was bus driver Heather McCourt when I was riding the old yellers?
I grew up in Tacoma where we rode on patched seats, torn in places, etched with symbols and who-loves-who 4eva. I remember the funk – a mix of vinyl, body odor and somebody’s old lunch. I remember fistfights and gang colors, kids screaming over the chaos and the little creatures I could fingerpaint in steamy windows on cold days.
But McCourt’s bus wasn’t like that. It was clean. The seats looked new. The kids were quiet and respectful. I can’t decide if the difference is the district, the route, the first day of school or the 15 years it’s been since I last rode a school bus. Maybe all of the above.
I split my time on the bus today talking with the bus driver and 9-year-old Alex Paquette, who didn’t want to leave his long-haired chihuahua puppy, Trixie. He also had a yellow lab, Jasmin, an 8-year-old hunting dog who still acts like a puppy. He has two lizards and two blue-tailed skinks. His family’s two cats died, but they might adopt another from the pound eventually. That’s where I found my kitty Otis, I told him.
I love days like this. School budgets and statistics, the WASL and policy changes are all important. But the days I get to talk with kids and walk in their shoes for a while, that’s what I love about this job.
What do you remember from riding the bus?