I have never ridden a school bus.
Actually, I have a couple of times. But in the entirety of my homeschooled life, I've never ridden a school bus to public school. I realized today that this is something completely routine for most people, taking up a great percentage of their lives from age seven to sixteen, possibly eighteen. But for me, it's been a once or twice in a lifetime event.
The couple of times I rode a school bus were with my dad and his alternative high school class on field trips. I remember going to a museum, then to a beauty school once. We had lunch in a parking lot next to a gas station. A couple of kids taught me how to make a whistle out of a piece of grass and my thumbs pressed together. We rode the long way home through muted landscape, hills and scrub the roadside scenery.
I really only remember bits and pieces of the trip, I was maybe nine or ten, and my memory's never been the clearest in some respects. I tend to remember snapshots; tall windows; mannequins with wigs; stormy skies; and sitting on green grass, searching for wide blades to practice with. And through it all, my father as this great, tall figure of strength and poise, speaking in his knowing way and kindness shining through his every gesture.
Actually, I have a couple of times. But in the entirety of my homeschooled life, I've never ridden a school bus to public school. I realized today that this is something completely routine for most people, taking up a great percentage of their lives from age seven to sixteen, possibly eighteen. But for me, it's been a once or twice in a lifetime event.
The couple of times I rode a school bus were with my dad and his alternative high school class on field trips. I remember going to a museum, then to a beauty school once. We had lunch in a parking lot next to a gas station. A couple of kids taught me how to make a whistle out of a piece of grass and my thumbs pressed together. We rode the long way home through muted landscape, hills and scrub the roadside scenery.
I really only remember bits and pieces of the trip, I was maybe nine or ten, and my memory's never been the clearest in some respects. I tend to remember snapshots; tall windows; mannequins with wigs; stormy skies; and sitting on green grass, searching for wide blades to practice with. And through it all, my father as this great, tall figure of strength and poise, speaking in his knowing way and kindness shining through his every gesture.
