“Family Tradition”

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.

"Politics"

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.

“Drop In The Ice Cream Market”

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.

Random Thoughts of a Bus Driver “It Won’t Kill You”

     When my grandfather would say, “Boys, come with me down to the shop.  I’ve got a job for you.”  We knew exactly what that meant.  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.  He would hand it to one of us and would repeat the action twice more till each of us stood with tool in hand.  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”.  The key word was start, there was not a, “When you reach there you can stop”.  There was a start but no stop.  On a large farm in Oklahoma there were enough thistles, milkweeds, and cactus for a life time of employment.  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.  But for the most part it was hot, dusty, and sweaty.  Not exactly what one looks forward to.  Most of us have similar stories we recall, with the effort and severity of the job growing with the passing of time.  We delight in telling those that are younger how lucky they are and how hard we had it.  Yet we are here to tell the stories so it did not kill us nor did it drive us to hate our fellow man.  As parents we try to help our children by doing better for them than what we may have had as children ourselves.  We try to keep them from what is sometimes perceived as hardships of everyday life.  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.  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.  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.   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.  That which we hold the dearest is what we have poured ourselves into, both mentally and physically.  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.  Thanks to my parents and grandparents for the memories and yes hard work that I will always treasure.  I look back on those times and they make my life full.  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.  We would all sit at the counter and you could have all the foot long hotdogs you could eat.  Well, maybe not because of hard work, maybe just because he was a grandfather.  Because I know how that feels.