tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-45521388424182381822024-03-19T13:58:35.708-05:00Mr. Brandon's School BusTom Brandonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04945027722723447582noreply@blogger.comBlogger332125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4552138842418238182.post-16622914702276563922016-05-25T07:42:00.002-05:002016-05-25T07:42:47.827-05:00"Letter"<div class="MsoNormal">
For
the one that will take my place:<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
The school is not exactly down town. I
have found that the rural roads that lead to the school are great for letting
you catch your breath as you are about to start your day. I personally have found it to be a great
quiet time to say a prayer of thanks for all that I have been blessed with or
to make request for the many things that I seem to come up short on. As you are checking your bus out, which is
important because you make up 50% of the schools fleet of buses, you will hear
a multitude of roosters from the farm next door crowing to welcome the day. You
may even see a few of them scampering across the school grounds. In the spring
it's always blow the grass out your tail pipe time. No, this is not a type of
country insult. During the spring, because of the large diameter of the tail
pipe on the bus, the swallows try to build a nest in it each afternoon when the
bus is parked and it has cooled off. Monday mornings are the worst, when you
start the bus about a half a bale of hay will blow out the tail pipe. They will
continue to do this for about two weeks before they give up and move on. As you pick up the students, it may seem like
a no brainer, be sure to smile and say, "Good morning." You see for
some of them you will be the first friendly voice they have heard that morning
and for some you are the first person they have talked to that morning because
no matter how small you may think they are, they got themselves up, got dressed,
and came out to wait on the bus all by themselves because Mom or Dad never got
out of bed. Some of the first students
to get on the bus will be a brother and sister. The brother will just go sit
down but the sister will often stop look at you, she has a little scar over her
left eye, and say, "Guess what?"
For the sake of time just guess anything because she will give no hints. I usually go with the absurd like, "A
dinosaur ran through your yard or your brother was eaten by an alligator."
You will have to make at least two guesses before she will tell you the guess
what. Do not let her sit by her brother they will fight all the way to school.
At this point you have a few miles before the next pick up. If you want you can
talk to the little quiet boy that will sit right behind you. He hardly ever
responds so I often do both sides of the conversation. As you come into the
next neighborhood you will pass in front of Hot Pickle Boy's house but don't
stop he has moved on up to the middle school. I'm sorry that you won't get to
know him. One day, the last week of school, he was standing waiting on the bus
in a full ghillie suit. If you don't know what a ghillie suit is, it is the
suit worn by hunters or military snipers that helps them to blend in with
grasses and other flora. In his case he
looked like a Sasquatch waiting for a ride. So on my list of things that I
thought I would never see or hear I added two things: 1. Picked up kid in ghillie
suit. 2. Gave Sasquatch a ride to school. Oddly enough he was also the reason
for the one listed right above that, when he got on the bus one morning wearing
a military gas mask. After a few more stops you will be picking up the Twins
Who Are Not Twins. To avoid a lecture no matter how much they look alike, dress
alike, or talk alike do not say or refer to them as twins. After all these
years I still don't know who is who. Later you will pick up a young man that
loves to wear a mohawk. I just call him rooster he seems to be ok with it.
Before you leave the neighborhood you will need to pick up my best friend Mr.
Mucus. He has grown from a little
kindergartner whose face was always gooey to a young man that is kind hearted
and will befriend those that need it. If you have a new student that is scared
his or her first day, Mr. Mucus is you man and if you let him he will be your
best friend also. There will be a little girl on the route, which if she
doesn't grow out of it, will cry almost every day she gets on the bus. With her
you have to do the Daddy thing and not feel sorry for her or she will cry all
the way to school. Give her to the end of the block to stop on her own, she
will on occasion, if she hasn't stopped look at her and say, "Knock it off
already you're not hurt." Most of the time the tears are turned off
instantly. There are several little boys that will make you wish you had a
tranquilizer gun to use on them or yourself. Just grit your teeth and hold on.
You will pick up Francine along the way, that's not her name but I've called
her that for so long, because I didn't know her name, that she answers to it
better than when you call her real name. She never fails to turn and wave when
she gets off the bus in the afternoon. It's that kind of wave where she just
wiggles her fingers. There will be many more, each with their own
personalities, each needing a friendly face to start their day. Before you know
it you will be a constant figure in their life, the one thing they know that
will not change. You will be there each day to say, "Good morning"
and there each evening to say, "Have a good evening, see you
tomorrow." Remember they may be small but their dreams are big and the
things that seem silly and trivial to you and I are world changers to them. And
if perchance you feel half as loved by them as I have, you will be truly
blessed.<o:p></o:p></div>
Tom Brandonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04945027722723447582noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4552138842418238182.post-67671710832946019312016-05-20T07:44:00.000-05:002016-05-20T07:44:06.553-05:00“It’s In There”<div class="MsoNormal">
Remember Wednesday Addams from the old T.V.
show The Addams Family? Her clone was riding my bus. There before me, on her
first day, stood a pretty little first grader, long dark hair, and an
emotionless expression. I said, “Good morning!” She looked at me, blinked,
turned, and walked down the aisle to be seated. As she left the bus I said,
“Have a great day!” She paused long enough to cut her eyes my way, without
moving her head, and then exited the bus. The voice inside my head said,
“Challenge accepted.” As each day passed I would tell her how pretty she looked
or how glad I was to see her. Each was
rewarded with the same stoic expression. Then one day I made a joke about where
she would play when she got home. She looked at me with those dark eyes and
just stared. “Well,” I said, “I saw that your parents were having a yard sale.
If they sell your yard where will you play?” Then it happened, instead of the
same emotionless stare, she rolled her eyes as she walked off the bus and said,
“It’s just an expression. They don’t sell the yard.” Be it ever so small there
was a crack in the dam and a droplet of emotion had squeezed through. Each day
the onslaught of complements and corny jokes continued. One afternoon, as we
pulled up to her house, her mother was out watering some flowers. Held in one
arm was her baby brother and in the other hand her mother was holding a water
hose. In a panicked voice I said, “Is she going to hose that baby off right out
here in the yard?” I opened the bus door and as she descended the steps I
actually heard and audible snicker. The crack was now wider and the droplet was
now a steady stream. Over time with persistence the flow seemed to increase
ounce by precious ounce. Then during the last week of school as the bus came to
a stop in front of her house she said, “Here” and she handed me a red pipe
cleaner that had been made into what I took as a bracelet. “It’s the best
circle that I could make,” she said. There was even a half smile on her face,
well maybe a quarter smile. The flood gates
were open, and all the seemingly futile moments that we had shared over the
months were all wrapped up in a red pipe cleaner bracelet. At that moment I wouldn’t have traded it for
one of solid gold. The people that you meet each day they all have a red pipe
cleaner bracelet. Some wear it on their wrist for all to see and give it
easily, with others it’s often hidden and takes time and effort for it to be
revealed. Best of all, some of those red pipe cleaner bracelets will turn out
to be gold bracelets in disguise.<o:p></o:p></div>
Tom Brandonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04945027722723447582noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4552138842418238182.post-1149933145090346352016-05-05T08:18:00.001-05:002016-05-05T08:18:09.439-05:00"Yardage"<div class="MsoNormal">
When he stepped on the bus you knew this was not just a normal day. He
had on a nice pair of pressed khaki shorts, a handsome pull over three button
shirt, and sun glasses. After he was seated he addressed me as if we were already
in the middle of a conversation, “That’s right I’m headed for Las Vegas. I’m
playing in a big golf tournament out there. I’ve decided to play some professional
golf.” Well this most defiantly explained the sharp outfit and it was a change
of pace from all the professional athletes that I usually carry to school each
day. Having played a few rounds of golf myself I felt this might lend its self
to some tickets to the Masters or some other prestige’s tournament if he were
playing in the area. I didn’t ask about ticket to the Vegas tournament a little
too far to travel. Well, he sat quietly for a few miles. I assumed he was going
over his game plan in his mind like most professionals do. The next thing I
know he asked, “Mr. Brandon do you have a five iron?” I apologized, not have a
five iron on me at the time and said it in that quiet tone that golf announcers
use, because without me knowing it he had already teed off and was in the
middle of the fairway. Trying to get a feel for the course and being a helpful
caddie I asked, “Do you need it to finish out this hole?” “Yes, I’m trying to
make a decision here.” You know yardage is critical in club selection and not
to question his judgement I asked, “Well, how far are you from the hole?” He squinted
as he looked down what appeared to be the fairway, out the front window of the
bus. I looked and could not see the hole so it must have been a considerable
distance so a five iron could have been the proper club selection. I repeated, “How
far?” “Well,” he turned and gave me that thoughtful look, “about twenty…..
about twenty minutes.” I’ve had rounds like that. I didn’t want to second guess
him but for me, a distance to the hole of twenty minutes at least calls for a
three wood.<o:p></o:p></div>
Tom Brandonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04945027722723447582noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4552138842418238182.post-89494967341374424282016-04-18T10:29:00.002-05:002016-04-18T10:29:28.722-05:00Random Thoughts of a Bus Driver, “Summer Breeze”<div class="MsoNormal">
"If it were a snake it would
have bit you," was a phrase often used by my father. He would send us to
find a particular item that he needed. As time passed and we had not returned
he would show up and we would say that we were unable to find it. At this point
he would reach just a few feet from where we were standing and retrieve the
item. Truly if it had been a snake it would have bit us. Often there are things
that are right there yet we do not seem to see them.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
The signs were there, I just wanted to
ignore them. Age it was trying to make itself known but I refused to give in.
My truck tried to tell me, yes my truck. I looked down to read a message that
had come up on the information panel. It said, "Your turn indicator has
been left on." How long does your turn signal have to be left on that even
the truck says, "Hey, old man turn your blinkers off." The next
evening I had the opportunity to pass on that feeling that comes when you feel
age creeping up on you. My wife came home from work and pulled off her shoes
complaining how much her feet were hurting. After sitting for a few minutes we
were headed for her mother's house to fix supper. She said, "You know my
feet are hurting so bad I think I'll just wear my house shoes." Since we
were just going to her mom's house, she slid those fluffy things on. Not being
one to let such an opportunity pass I started with the come on granny jokes. I
asked if she needed me to get her walking stick before we went out the door.
Then taking her by the arm I said, "Come on Momma let's shuffle on out to
the truck." I delivered every old person joke and innuendo that I could
think of on the way to the truck. She accepted each with her usual smile. I
opened her door and helped her into the truck as I would any elderly lady. Just
as I was about to close her door she smiled and said, "Gramps before you
get in the truck you might want to zip up your pants." The signs are often
there but ignored, until brought to our attention by a dear loved one or a
gently breeze.<o:p></o:p></div>
Tom Brandonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04945027722723447582noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4552138842418238182.post-79840922487279112692016-04-07T08:26:00.002-05:002016-04-07T08:26:39.528-05:00“A Moment In Time”<div class="MsoNormal">
The loud buzz of an emergency alarm called my
attention to the rear of the bus. There are alarms on all of the emergency escape
windows and it is not unusual when a student stands up for their book bag to
pull on the handle and set it off. As I
look back that appeared to be exactly what had happened. “Zoomer, sit down and
push that handle back down also.” He
looked around rather confused and with the help of some fellow passengers the
handle was pushed back down and the ear piercing alarm was finally silenced.
All of this was followed with me saying, “Who is passing out the balloons? Let
the air out of them and put them up.” As
I finish closing the carnival I hear, “One, two, three, action.” My attention
is now drawn to a student that is wearing a camouflaged ski mask and he has
started what appears to be a movie scene.
His next line is, “I have a machete and I know how to use it.” He then turns to me and says, “This is where
I say a curse word.” “No” was my response. “But I heard it on T.V.” “No, I don’t
care if you did hear it on T.V. it’s not ok to say.” I said it in such a way as to let him know it
was not a suggestion. He understood because he said, “We better wrap it up guys
the old man looks like he’s about to lose it.”
All of this happened in a matter of a few minutes. There were discussions later that revolved
around Jesse James and how you probably could ask Mr. Brandon about him I think
they were good friends. Then there was
the conversation about how you didn’t always have to be cool. That conversation had a line in it, “Take Mr.
Brandon for example.” Then there was a question of whether or not I was a
little bit crazy. If I come away just a
little bit crazy then it was a successful day.<o:p></o:p></div>
Tom Brandonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04945027722723447582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4552138842418238182.post-11511246168237391952016-03-24T12:59:00.000-05:002016-03-24T12:59:25.240-05:00"Facing Mortality"We have all thought of it at one time or another, the end, final day, our last breath. For most it comes at an unknown hour but for some it can come at a given period of time. We sometimes ask ourselves what would I do if I knew the time? This was the question that was posed by one young student to another student. He said, “What would you do if you were on Hawaii and you knew it was going to blow up in thirty-six hours?” The other student answered, “Leave Hawaii.” I was in complete agreement. This was not the thought provoking response that was desired so he tried again. “What would you do if you knew the whole world would blow up in thirty-six hours?” Well this was more to the point and took a little more time in thought but not as much as you would expect. His eyebrows went down; you could tell he was pondering the end, the certain mortality of man. After a surprisingly short time for such a weighty question, he responded with the certainty of a man with a plan that would surly give him peace of mind as he prepared to meet his maker. “Well,” he said “I guess I would go to my room and eat some Beanee Weenees.” He noticed the looks on the faces around him and so as if to add validity to his plan he added, “There’re really pretty good.” So the next time someone comes up to you and says, “You look like you could use a can of Beanee Weenes.” You might want to make sure things are in order.Tom Brandonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04945027722723447582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4552138842418238182.post-65357064737193393442016-03-10T11:18:00.002-06:002016-03-10T11:18:39.735-06:00“Meow”<div class="MsoNormal">
With Pop-Tarts in hand the pre-K student struggled up the steps to the
bus. He looked at the package of Pop-Tarts
and then at me and asked, “Can I eat these; I didn’t have time this morning?” Well the bus rules strictly forbid eating or
drinking on the bus so I looked into his little innocent face and said, “Sure,
but I better not find any crumbs on the floor of my bus.” With a grin on his face he started down the
aisle to find a place to sit. Within a
few minutes he was back at my elbow, “Mr. Brandon, I don’t think I can eat
these without getting a few crumbs on the floor.” “I understand,” I told him. “But be careful
and don’t get too many.” Later he was
back with a Pop-Tart in hand and said, “Here you go Mr. Brandon you can have
this one.” Not being a Pop-Tart fan I
was not particularly interested but I assumed it was an offering of gratitude
for letting him eat the other one on the bus, knowing that most likely there
was a small mountain of Pop-Tart crumbs on the bus floor. As he handed me the Pop-Tart he added, “It’s
a super hero Pop-Tart.” I looked at it
and sure enough there was Catwomen. I
might have been able to turn down a Pop-Tart at any other time but a Catwomen
Pop-Tart, I don’t think so. I think you
could market mud pies if they had a picture of Catwomen on them. You put Catwomen on a Pop-Tart and that thing
comes out of the package hot, no toaster needed. Sorry, got a little side tracked, back to the
story. As we pulled onto the school
grounds he was once again at my side waiting to get off the bus. Knowing that students are supposed to wait
till the bus has come to a complete stop before they line up, several of the students
told him he should sit down. The reply
that he gave made clear to me I had been a pawn in a web of graft and
corruption. He said to them, “Its ok, I
gave him a Pop-Tart.” It turned out the
Pop-Tart was a payoff, a bribe; my good reputation had been compromised for a
place in the front of the line. Now the
other students addressed me, “Mr. Brandon he needs to sit down we haven’t
stopped yet.” I turned and looked at the
driver’s side window where I had carefully stood a Pop-Tart. Looking back at me was Catwomen, memories of
Julie Newmar and Lee Meriwether flashed through my head and I said, “Its ok, he
gave me a Pop-Tart.” They say, “Every
man has his price.”<o:p></o:p></div>
Tom Brandonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04945027722723447582noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4552138842418238182.post-81098434909603781892016-03-03T10:53:00.001-06:002016-03-03T10:53:20.622-06:00“Consequences”<div class="MsoNormal">
A normally cheerful student entered the bus
with his hat turned backwards and a disgruntled look on his face. As he sat there he mumbled some rather grumpy
remarks to those that were around him who in turn looked back at him with very
puzzled looks wondering what they had done.
It looked as if this situation would continue to deteriorate. It was time for “Bad Attitude
Intervention”. I called his name and he
turned his furrowed brow toward me.
“First things first,” I started.
“I believe the first step to making this a better day would to be to
turn that hat around so that you look like somebody who knows the front from
back and not look like a hood.” He slowly
complied with the request. “Ok, handsome young man let’s move to step number
two.” There was not a smile on his face
but the frown had subsided somewhat.
“Now I want you to look at each of the friends that are seated around
you and say something nice about each of them and they will say something nice
about you.” There was an exchange of
pleasantries such as, “You’re a good friend, I like your hat, you’re funny, and
you’re nice.” As they looked at each
other they begin to laugh and all was ended in good humor. Believing all was well, I left them
alone. Little did I know, the snowball
of happiness that I had put in motion was continuing downhill and was about to
end in disaster. The first sign was on
hearing the now happy young man singing, “I’m a tap dancing monkey, I’m a tap
dancing monkey.” He had removed from his
backpack an old fashion sock monkey and it was dancing across the back of the
seat. The musical cabaret continued with
a performance of “Watch me whip, whip, watch me nae, nae.” There was a slight intermission with a
discussion of what exactly was a nae?
Then the snowball crashed into the peaceful valley below with sock
monkey preforming “I came in like a wrecking ball”. This is not something you want to see a sock
monkey preform. It will crush and
destroy precious sock monkey memories that you have cherished from your childhood. Note to self; a frown and
furrowed brow are much preferred over an illicit sock monkey dance.<o:p></o:p></div>
Tom Brandonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04945027722723447582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4552138842418238182.post-7096246026169621222016-03-01T08:15:00.002-06:002016-03-01T08:15:16.137-06:00“Changes”<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px;">"Well," the young man said in a tone loud enough to gain the attention of those around him, "in a couple of weeks I'll be having another birthday and you know what that means." The students around him and myself waited to hear what that meant. There was a pause then all was revealed, "I'll be having a birthday and then it won't be but a few more years and I'll be going through puberty and things will start happening." He definitely had my attention. He looked at the others and said, "Let me tell you about it." I cleared my throat loud enough to get his attention and he looked at me in the mirror. "There are some things that we do not share with younger children," I said. He frowned and shook his head yes. Then he looked at a second grade girl that was seated in front of him and still looking his way and said, "Trust me some changes coming your way." I cleared my throat again and shook my head no. So he changed tactics paused for a moment and said, "Mr. Brandon when did you grow that mustache?" I must have given him a disapproving look without realizing it because before I could answer he said, “Come on Mr. Brandon give me a break here, big man is going through some changes." Before I could reply he continued. “I’m sure my older brothers will be good role models they have already talked to me about,” At this point I took a deep breath and gritted my teeth. “They have already talked to me about how to kick a football.” I hope that is the only step of puberty that we have to worry about at this time.</span>Tom Brandonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04945027722723447582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4552138842418238182.post-73548195186381797372016-02-08T07:41:00.003-06:002016-02-08T07:41:31.955-06:00"Grief"<div class="MsoNormal">
I was reminded of the familiar quote from Alfred Lord Tennyson, “Tis
better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.” All who know Mr. Mucus, know he has a love of
life. He approaches all things with zest
and excitement. As if that very minute
was the greatest time of his life. But
it was a much subdued and quite Mr. Mucus that approached. With bowed head and faint voice he said, “Mr.
Brandon, did you hear the news?” Having
shared in the lives of my riders over the years, I prepared to listen. Because of the tone of voice, I prepared for
the worst, already feeling a heaviness in my own heart. “Did you hear, they are closing the Ryan’s
restaurant in town? My father told me about it last night.” I gathered myself and in an equally hushed
tone I said “I know, I heard that too.
What are you going to do?” Then as he spoke you could hear a small
quiver in his voice, “I don’t know,” there was a pause to gain control of his
emotions, “I have to admit when my father told me, I cried a little bit. I had a hard time concentrating on my
homework after that. So last night we
went to Golden Corral and ate. As we
were eating my father looked across the table at me and said, “It’s just not
the same.” Then with feet and heart that
seemed too heavy to lift, he moved silently back to his seat. True love, great are the rewards, deep are
the sorrows. <o:p></o:p></div>
Tom Brandonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04945027722723447582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4552138842418238182.post-91524834897187651102016-01-28T14:06:00.002-06:002016-01-28T14:06:47.198-06:00“Family Tradition”<div class="MsoNormal">
When far from home one’s identity and family connections
can be blurred or lost all together.
Rural America on the other hand is where roots run deep. Family traditions and pride go back
years. People talk of Great, Great
Grandfather and his accomplishments.
Some family names are held in high esteem in the community. Others are referred to as pillars of the
community. To impugn the heritage of a
family is serious business. For this
reason my attention was drawn to a conversation that I heard coming from behind
me. “My family is known for two things”
he said with a hint of pride in his voice.
I looked in the mirror and there he sat with his chest puffed up,
sporting an Alabama Crimson Tide ball cap.
“Yes,” he said, “we are known for two things in my family, farting and
belching.” Then he sat back with a big
smile on his face. Moments later, with
my eyes burning, I opened my driver’s side window to let in fresh, frigid air,
I saw him raise his finger and he said, “I’m number one”. There was all indication that he would uphold
family pride and tradition for his generation.<o:p></o:p></div>
Tom Brandonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04945027722723447582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4552138842418238182.post-86649296273959326992016-01-27T13:24:00.002-06:002016-01-27T13:24:30.665-06:00"Politics"<div class="MsoNormal">
In this year of campaigning and political decision
making I thought it should be my responsibility to inform you of one position
that has already been decided. I was
approached by the little, cute, kindergarten, girl delegation and was informed;
1. They love me very much. 2. I was the best bus driver ever. I was feeling pretty good about the position
until a return visit from the delegation.
In true political fashion it seemed they now had a request they wanted
granted. There was a plea for eating of
candy on the bus as long as they put the rappers in their pockets. Not wanting impeachment proceedings to occur
on the same day that I had officially taken office the request was granted. I’m not being self-congratulatory but I’m
just reporting the facts and the rest of you will just have to fight it out for
second place.</div>
Tom Brandonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04945027722723447582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4552138842418238182.post-63783323081038824942016-01-19T10:40:00.002-06:002016-01-19T10:40:59.513-06:00“Drop In The Ice Cream Market”<div class="MsoNormal">
He boarded the bus with the flourish of a big
spender. Shortly after being seated he
made everyone aware of his wealth. In
the half light of the early morning bus ride he reached in his pocket and
pulled out his money. Holding it in the
air and doing a little dance he asked several children, “Do you have ice cream
money?” As they sat blank faced and staring
he started singing, “I have ice cream money. I have ice cream money”. No one said a word as he danced and gloated
of his financial status. Then in the
quiet hush between bumps in the road there was a sound. A slight ping, you know the sound a coin
makes when falling to the floor, from the sound I guessed dime. There was a low muffled, “Oh man” and song
and dance ended. He sat quietly, on what
I’m sure seemed a long ride to school.
Fate can cut your legs out from under you in a hurry.<o:p></o:p></div>
Tom Brandonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04945027722723447582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4552138842418238182.post-65515970046337553732016-01-13T14:16:00.001-06:002016-01-13T15:49:09.931-06:00Random Thoughts of a Bus Driver “It Won’t Kill You”<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">When
my grandfather would say, “Boys, come with me down to the shop.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">I’ve got a job for you.”</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">We knew exactly what that meant.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">He would reach over in the corner of the
shop, remove a hoe, place it in a vice on the workbench, and with a few quick
swipes of a file it would have a nice sharp edge.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">He would hand it to one of us and would
repeat the action twice more till each of us stood with tool in hand.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">We would then step out of the shop and he
would point to some part of the farm and say, “You boys start over there and I
want you to hoe out all the thistles, milkweeds, and cactus that you
find”.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">The key word was start, there was
not a, “When you reach there you can stop”.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">
</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">There was a start but no stop.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">On
a large farm in Oklahoma there were enough thistles, milkweeds, and cactus for
a life time of employment.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">There were
occasional stops for water, back to the house for lunch, and the afternoon
would find us in the shade of the pecan trees down by the creek.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">But for the most part it was hot, dusty, and
sweaty.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">Not exactly what one looks
forward to.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">Most of us have similar
stories we recall, with the effort and severity of the job growing with the
passing of time.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">We delight in telling
those that are younger how lucky they are and how hard we had it.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">Yet we are here to tell the stories so it did
not kill us nor did it drive us to hate our fellow man.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">As parents we try to help our children by
doing better for them than what we may have had as children ourselves.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">We try to keep them from what is sometimes
perceived as hardships of everyday life.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">
</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">We don’t want them to have to do without or work as hard as we felt that
we had to, even if the severity is only self-perceived.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">Most of all there are the memories that we
have because of those times, that bring joy to our hearts when we think of them
and we would not trade them for anything in the world, though at the time we thought
we would surely die.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">I am afraid that as
we try to remove the struggles, as we perceive them, that we also rob our
children of experiences that would make them stronger and richer people.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">Many would agree that some of our favorite
memories that we share with our spouse are the times we were struggling
together to make that first little house a home and crying and laughing when
our children cried and laughed.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">That
which we hold the dearest is what we have poured ourselves into, both mentally
and physically.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">The struggles that our
children and grandchildren face in moving from level five to level six of their
favorite video game will long be forgotten but the sweat and labor involved in
earning that game, will bring a feeling of satisfaction and make them stronger
people.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">Thanks to my parents and
grandparents for the memories and yes hard work that I will always
treasure.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">I look back on those times and
they make my life full.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">Oh, if you were
wondering about pay, from time to time because of our hard work our grandfather
would take us to town to the local café.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">
</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">We would all sit at the counter and you could have all the foot long
hotdogs you could eat.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">Well, maybe not
because of hard work, maybe just because he was a grandfather.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">Because I know how that feels.</span></div>
Tom Brandonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04945027722723447582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4552138842418238182.post-23432618057636885132016-01-12T12:52:00.000-06:002016-01-12T12:52:24.468-06:00“The Claw”<div class="MsoNormal">
The doors opened and big brother hurried on
to the bus. Little brother turned for
one last embrace from mom, which is not uncommon. It then turned from an embrace to a clinch. He then became a preschool cocklebur with all
of his little spins buried in the folds of his mother’s clothing. With great effort she slowly pealed him
off. You could almost hear a sound as if
Velcro was being parted. She dangled him
at arm’s length making sure he could not make contact with her and reattach
himself in any way. She placed him as
far up the bus steps as her arms would allow.
Then the bus driver’s arm reached out, like the claw on the machine at
the county fair. Grab and miss, moving
target, an adjustment, another grab and this time there is contact. The claw closed its fingers on the backpack
and then unceremoniously lifts the preschooler into the air. With little feet dangling he is deposited in
the aisle to find a place to be seated.
The door closes, the bus moves toward the games of skill and chance,
which wait at the next stop.<o:p></o:p></div>
Tom Brandonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04945027722723447582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4552138842418238182.post-50463546709993810402016-01-07T20:49:00.003-06:002016-01-07T20:49:40.613-06:00"Welcome Back"Nothing like the procession that comes with going back to school after a long holiday break. There are a number of ways that students come to the bus showing their level of eagerness to return to the halls of education. On a rating scale of 1-10 you have the student that drags to the bus rubbing their little sleepy eyes because they have been getting up at a much later hour during the holidays, that comes in at a 1. On the other end of the spectrum coming in at 10 is the student that comes to the bus as if they have never been gone, as if it was any other day no more excitement than usual. Then there are those that are outside of the spectrum. The house that you pull up in front of and there are no lights on at all may rank a 0. As I pull up to pick up Mr. Mucus he comes to the bus all grins as he steps on to the bus I said, "Good morning my good friend. Hope you had a great Christmas. Are you ready to get started again?" Without a word, but with a big smile, he threw his arm around my head putting me in a head lock and then gave me an extra heavy duty head knuckle rub. I think he came in on the scale at a strong 25. From the pain in my neck a very strong 25.Tom Brandonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04945027722723447582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4552138842418238182.post-43833770926601195762016-01-04T14:10:00.000-06:002016-01-04T14:10:56.286-06:00Random Thoughts of a Bus Driver “Listen”<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"> Walk into any rural, small
town cafe or restaurant and you'll find it in the corner, front or back it
doesn't matter but it will be there. It
can be long and rectangular or it may be round but regardless of its shape or
location it often is referred to by the same name "The Liar's
Table". Seated around it you will
find a variety men ranging in age but for the most part they are older men that
are either retired, close to retiring or those who will never retire regardless
of their age. They share jokes with one
another often the joke has been told a number of times due to the fact that the
teller has forgotten that he has already told it on a previous occasions. Most of the time that’s ok because the
listeners don't remember hearing it and those that do, laugh like it was the
first time they have heard it. Sometimes
you will find a jar of homemade jelly that has been provided by one of the
regulars. As the men come and go, for
they are never all there at the same time, they talk and share stories. Some of the stories as you can imagine should
not be repeated, in polite company. As
they tell their stories they reveal the paths that they have walked. Though their backgrounds are varied they have
two common threads, laughter and hard work.
Too many it would seem like these two things do not go together. Surely joy and laughter can only be found in
avoiding hard work. Yet if you listen
carefully, it is the hard work in their lives that has let them enjoy the little
things that happen along the way all that much more. They know what it is to rise before the sun
and come home after sunset. They have
come home covered from head to toe with dirt and smelling of sweat, only to
collapsed in exhaustion and then to rise again and start all over. Many of those jobs offered no pay, they were
for friends and relatives and they were raised in a generation where
relationships were more important than pay.
Now as time has passed they look back and find humor in those times of
stress and worry. As they tell their
often exaggerated stories you also realize they are the community historians
because they talk of “remember when”.
They often argue about dates but they remember the big snow, the flood,
the tornado that devastated the community and where you could go to buy local
moonshine. They remember when the Smith
farm was the Johnson farm and before that it was the Jones farm or how an old
man that everybody called Uncle John would always give you a ride in his wagon
if you needed it. They give direction
not only by road names but by landmarks like that big old oak tree, that old
two story house they tore down, Steger’s curve, or over on the creek at Hump. They are the history of the community, for
they have grown up here, worked here, and buried loved ones in the family plots
in the local cemeteries. As our society
continues to change what will become of the liar’s table. We have become so mobile that few live where
they were born and even fewer know the bone tiring labor that was common place
for another generation. There are not
many relationships that go back more than a few years. We don’t know who lives next door much less
the history of that old house down on the corner. I often wonder what will happen when no one
else remembers where the best pear tree in the county is or what will happen
when we lose men of character who would not increase the size of their field,
because it would mean cutting down that pear tree. These men are not only found around this
table. They are at our own table during
family get-togethers and holidays, they are sitting on the pew next to you at
church, they are on the porch of the house across the street. Take time to
listen, because one day where there was history and character, there will be
silence.</span>Tom Brandonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04945027722723447582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4552138842418238182.post-78804578084553842842015-12-17T11:35:00.000-06:002015-12-17T11:35:56.492-06:00“Time to Shine”<div class="MsoNormal">
Every dog has his day, everyone gets their 15
minutes of fame. If you are red headed,
freckled faced, have a perpetual smile and are considered by some to be
“slightly” overweight when do you come into your full glory? When are you greeted like a hero? The week
before Christmas break and you come to the bus with your big smile wearing a
Santa hat. As you enter the bus all eyes
turn to you and you say, “Ho, Ho, Ho!” of course. As you walk down the aisle little children
pat your belly and say, “Santa, Santa”.
You sit down knowing it doesn’t get much better than this. After Mr. Mucus, I mean Santa, was seated
there were a few rounds of Rudolph sang than they moved onto Jingle Bells. The sing-a-long came to a close when Santa
asked, “Mr. Brandon, do you know the real meaning of Christmas?” There was a gentle quietness that fell across
the bus like a Hallmark special on TV.
“Yes, I do know the real meaning of Christmas” I replied. Each student anticipated in silence for the sharing
of the real meaning of Christmas. Then
in a soft loving voice I said, “The true meaning of Christmas is to buy your
bus driver a really, really nice present.”
The riot that occurred could not be described as Peace on earth good
will toward men. As the violence
subsided someone finally ask, “Well then Mr. Brandon what do you want for
Christmas?” My reply of, “To throw all
of you off the bus and live happily ever after,” was not very well received. From Mr. Brandon’s School Bus Merry
Christmas.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
P.S. When you have
over 60 elementary students on your bus do you know how many elf on the shelf
stories you have to listen to?<o:p></o:p></div>
Tom Brandonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04945027722723447582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4552138842418238182.post-30216063163679763382015-12-15T09:49:00.001-06:002015-12-15T09:49:59.387-06:00Random Thoughts of a Bus Driver "Priorities"<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"> Have
you ever told your spouse that there was just not any money in the house hold
budget for an item that they were considering and turned around and bought
something yourself that was even more expensive? How did that work out for you? No matter how you try to justify your reasoning
it all comes out the same, “If there wasn’t enough for one item then there
defiantly wasn’t enough for a more expensive item”. Recently eighty million dollars yes that is
an eight with seven zeros, was moved from the Alabama Education Trust Fund into
the General Fund. The reasoning being,
whether you believe the figures or not, that the Trust Fund had a surplus of
one hundred forty million dollars and the General Fund was going to come up
short. At the same time it is reported
that from 2008-2014 Alabama cut funding to schools by 17.3%, the second highest
in the nation. As a teacher in the state
of Alabama I have received one, yes that’s a one with no zeros, state mandated
raise since 2007. That raise was a
staggering 2%. In that same amount of
time the cost of living has increased by over 10%. If you have been in education for any length
of time you have found that you are at the top of the pay scale and if my math
is correct I now make 8% less than I did ten years ago. I do not profess to understand the entire
goings on in Montgomery, I’m not sure even those that work there do, but I have
missed something somewhere. If you have
a surplus large enough to bail out the general fund than why am I making 8%
less this year than I did eight years ago and no real promise of a raise in the
future. Don’t tell me that there is not
money in the budget. If this works I’m
going to let Montgomery explain to my wife why I was able to buy that new
shotgun and we couldn’t get the living room furniture. I was recently reminded of a phrase that is
found in the ethics laws that govern what a state employee is allowed to except
from outside sources. Teachers being a
state employee are also bound by this law.
The phrase used is “de minimis value”.
The definition given for this phrase is “something so small that
accounting for it would be unreasonable”.
I understand the reason for having ethic laws but I’m sure they were not
put in place because someone was concerned that a kindergartner may bring undue
influence on his teacher for a grade of satisfactory in hand writing. Yet this phrase has also sums up how those in
positions of power and sometimes the general public have come to view those who
work in education “something so small that accounting for it would be
unreasonable”. We talk about how
children are our most valuable resource.
Teachers have been in hundreds of conversation that end with “You
couldn’t pay me enough to do your job”.
We hold those who work in education to a much higher standard than the
general public. As an example let a
teacher get cross way with the law and when it is reported on the news they
will say how they are a part of education, what role they played, and what
school they worked at. I have never
heard a news cast of a robbery where they said, “The robber has been a part of
the plumbing work for most of his life and worked at Joe’s Plumbing”. I’m not saying those in education should not
be held to a higher accountability. I am
saying along with higher accountability there should also be the respect and
yes salary that comes with being held to such.
Yes it is a rewarding job, yes I love working with students, and yes I
count myself blessed to be in education but none of these will buy my groceries
or pay my mortgage. Many reports now
show that teachers are now leaving the profession faster than they are
entering. I am not asking to be a rich man;
I would be willing to scrape by on the paltry salary of a Montgomery
politician.</span>Tom Brandonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04945027722723447582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4552138842418238182.post-31606878460131050412015-12-07T07:44:00.003-06:002015-12-07T08:15:19.492-06:00Random Thoughts of a Bus Driver "World Peace"<div class="MsoNormal">
We
live in an amazing world! Though I do
not consider myself to be old, I have had the privilege to have been around a
number of years. In those years I have
seen many amazing changes. I have seen
the day when the best thing you could purchase for your child’s education was a
set of encyclopedias that took up substantial amount of space, now we just
Google it. I have watched all three
channels on a black and white TV serving as my father’s remote control, now you
can miss an hour long program that you wanted to watch on your 72 inch high
definition television, because it took so long to go through the nine hundred
channels that are available. As a
teacher I have gone home with my hands covered with chalk dust and purple ink
from mimeographed papers, to having a printer right in my room and an
interactive board that is attached to my computer that will electronically
write in any color of my choosing. As a
bus driver I have driven buses that were manual shift, exposed metal bars
around the thinly padded seat, and were cold and rattled as you went down the
road. Now my bus has an automatic transmission,
air shocks, tented windows, heater and air conditioning front and back, radio,
and CD player. I don’t even have to
reach over to open the door for students; I have an air operated door that is
activated with a button on the steering wheel.
I wax nostalgic. This past week I
was introduce to what has to be the greatest advancement in the history of the
world. I have in my life visited a
number of outhouses. Many of you know
what I speak of. I have visited one and
two holers whose seats were hopefully worn smooth over the years by use so I
would not get a splinter. It was always
questionable what you would find in them to “clean” yourself with after the job
was finished. I once used toilet paper
in Russia that I believe I got a paper cut from. My daughter and 5 month old grandson often
stay with us during the work week. With
a baby in the house there are numerous diaper changes and with that came the flushable,
moist wipes. That alone should have some
recognition. Then my daughter brought in
a device that I believe given time and the right amount of consideration could
possible change the course of the world.
It is the right size to hold a package of wipes and then, be still my
beating heart, you plug it in and it warms, yes warms the wipes. Not only are they moist, for a better job,
but WARM. Oh! What a blessed invention
to be introduced to in the chilly month of December. With one of these in every world leaders
bathroom how could you not come out with a good feeling toward all
mankind. Forgive me Leonardo da Vinci, move over Thomas
Edison, why has this not made world headlines?
I have never been one to spend a lot of time in the royal chamber but in
the future if my family needs me I can tell them where to look first. Who knows I may have decided what room to
move the set of encyclopedias to. <o:p></o:p></div>
Tom Brandonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04945027722723447582noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4552138842418238182.post-90031152675361766792015-12-04T08:13:00.002-06:002015-12-04T08:13:34.650-06:00“Disco on the Bus”
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">After a few minutes on the bus your friend
and mine, Mr. Mucus, pulled his head into his jacket and zipped it up so his
head was inside.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In a few moments he
started yelling, “Go, go, run.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
other students around him asked what he was doing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He informed them that he was watching a ball
game on his big screen TV.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He continued
to yell for his team until the game was over.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>At this point there was a pause and then he said, “All right,” and start
moving around in the seat in a circular motion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He must have been aware of the questioning eyes that were now looking at
him and he replied from inside, “I’ve turned on the disco ball in the dance
room.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He gyrated around a number of
times the movements getting larger and larger until he hit his head a good lick
on the seat in front of him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He fell
back in the seat, knowing that we were concerned a voice from inside called
out, “I’m not dead.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then it was
followed by, “I think I’ll go back to watching television.”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
Tom Brandonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04945027722723447582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4552138842418238182.post-79556699804712833562015-12-02T07:44:00.003-06:002015-12-02T07:44:31.680-06:00"Choosing A Side"<div class="MsoNormal">
There have been and continue
to be great debates throughout the years.
Hercules, hero of the ancient world or bully with a lack of tolerance
for creatures who only want to practice their traditions of destroying towns
and people? Climate change, real threat
or Governmental hoax? Bacon, bad for
your health or the true joy of life?
Dogs, man's best friend or one of the world's biggest free loaders, only
surpassed by cats? Dorothy, misplaced
good hearted youth or unwanted Kansas refugee causing havoc in Oz? At this time of year we come to the biggest
debate that can be had on a bus full of elementary students in the month of
December. It comes up each year and you
know the bus driver is always called in to arbitrate the discussion. Feelings are hurt, tears are shed, voices are
raised, and from time to time blows are exchanged. Each year I know I will hear, "Mr.
Brandon, is Santa Claus real?" I
try to moderate and let each side have its say so. In the end all discussion must be brought to
a close. I let them know that they are
free to believe what they want but as for me, I believe, because I don't want
to take the chance of having nothing on Christmas morning. There are many things in this life that I
don't believe in; A politician's promise, that you can have healthy and tasty,
a lawyer who says he only wants to help, or when your wife says you don't have
to get her a present this year. But I do
believe in the sparkle in the eyes of a child when he talks about Santa coming
to town. When students take the time to
sing Christmas songs together on the bus and the bus driver knows when every
Christmas tree on their route went up because they were told in high pitched
excited voices. I hope your life is filled with high pitched excited
voices. I hope that sometimes that voice
is yours.<o:p></o:p></div>
Tom Brandonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04945027722723447582noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4552138842418238182.post-32482157771820181552015-11-04T08:01:00.000-06:002015-11-04T08:01:36.164-06:00"Halloween's Full Moon"<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 18px;">One of the memorable and often quoted lines from The Godfather is spoken by Peter Clemenza after the revenge killing of Paulie Gatto. Clemenza instructs Rocco Lampone, "Leave the gun, take the cannoli". It's all about taking care of business and keeping your priorities straight. All of us have heard countless lectures, sermons, and talks about keeping one's priorities straight. By taking care of the important task first and not letting ourselves be side tracked by the trivial, we become more productive and successful. A kindergartner was struggling as he came up the aisle. It was the Friday before Halloween and his hands were full. In one hand he held on to his book bag that was bulging with all the necessities of a day in kindergarten. In the other hand he held the haul of candy from the class party and the special treats that had been so lovingly made by his teacher. This alone was proving to be a daunting task but as he prepared to leave the bus another problem was making itself known. His pants, ever so slightly, were creeping down. Like most little kindergarten boys there was not much in the behind area to help keep them up and he was not wearing a belt. He tried dragging his wrist across the waist of his pants, hoping they would somehow stick to his wrist and he would be able to pull them up. No go, so he took a step down, the pants crept down. Another step and continued slide. He did a hula motion on the bottom step to try and impede his pants decent. It was to no avail, as his feet hit the ground so did his pants and there before me was the full Halloween moon. He was appropriately dressed with little orange pumpkins on his drawers. He looked down, pants at his ankles, he looked to his right hand full of book bag that he dare not put down, he looked at his left hand with a bag full of candy. The young man has a bright future in front of him with his priorities firmly in place. He hung on to what was important and waddled to the house with his pants around his ankles.</span>Tom Brandonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04945027722723447582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4552138842418238182.post-81757275072352675032015-10-28T08:25:00.000-05:002015-10-28T08:25:44.873-05:00"Stick To It"<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 18px;">A young man on the bus told me of the endeavors of a kindergarten student that was seated behind him. I listened but I must admit there was serious doubt in my mind if the kindergartner was really up to the task that he was trying to accomplish. I looked in the mirror and tried to locate the busy young man. There seemed to be a lot of activity coming from his seat. As we pulled up to the kindergartner's home he walked up the aisle proudly showing the results of his endeavors. Much to my surprise he had accomplished exactly what had been reported to me that he was trying to do. Thomas Edison was reported to have said, "The three great essentials to achieve anything worthwhile are: Hard work, Stick-to-itiveness, and Common sense." Yes, the young man walked up the aisle with an eraser securely glued to his forehead. I believe he truly embodied two of the essentials that Edison had espoused. I'll let you decide which one he was missing. </span>Tom Brandonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04945027722723447582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4552138842418238182.post-67133515249254935772015-10-21T07:59:00.004-05:002015-10-21T07:59:49.320-05:00"Just Kids"<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 18px;">Upon hearing Mr. Mucus give out a loud, "Good Job" I looked in the mirror to see who he was encouraging. Mr. Mucus is not only a glass half full kind of kid but it's half full of chocolate milk kind of kid. I found him patiently giving spanish lessons to the students in the seat across the aisle from him. He started with the basics, "How do you say, yes?" They replied, "Si". "Correct" he said. Then he asked how to say water. They responded correctly with "Agua". At this point he was so excited about the progress that they were making that he yelled out, "Super" followed by a series of high fives. He then noticed me looking in the mirror and said, "Mr. Brandon, I'm helping these guys with their Spanish and they are doing GREAT!" I gave him a thumbs up and he returned the gesture. The Spanish lessons continued with colors and numbers with his students responding correctly each time. You could tell how proud he was of their great progress. I decided this was not the time to tell him that they were new to our school and had move here from a Latin American country and that Spanish was their primary language. It also occurred to me that he did not see them as Latino or foreign. He just saw them as kids no different from himself. Their hair, eyes, and skin were all darker than his but they were just kids. Another lesson learned from my teacher Mr. Mucus.</span>Tom Brandonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04945027722723447582noreply@blogger.com0