Tracy/Dandelion Mama has a sweet post up about her son riding the short bus to school. (Note: I wrote this awhile ago and am only now getting around to publishing it, so her post is kind of old now.)
When I was in 6th grade we moved from one suburb of Seattle to another. Kent was across the valley from where I had lived previously, and it meant a new elementary school for 6th grade. I was horrendously shy. Or at least, I was after we moved. Before we moved, I’d had a gang of girls I hung out with at school, and another gang of kids, including a best friend, who I hung out with at home. At school I was considered the funny one, the one the girls would expect to entertain them when we got bored during recess. We put on plays together; we made up dance routines at recess. The whole world was ours.
But I was really shy among people I didn’t know. And I knew no one at my new school. It was painful for me. Most of the kids had all grown up together and knew each other well. Cliques and groups were well established by 6th grade. Fortunately, there was another girl who was new at the school, and we got to be friends.
Her name was Lisa, and her family was Mormon. She used to take me on some church activities. I remember a really fun father-daughter camp out one time.
Unfortunately, we both went to different junior highs and I lost touch with her. It was a bit easier to make new friends in junior high—a lot of the elementary schools fed different junior highs so there were a lot of kids forced to make new friends.
Anyway, the elementary school I went to was at the top of a really steep hill, and we lived near the bottom of the hill. The school was only a few blocks away–definitely within walking distance. But the only road to it was a very steep hill with no sidewalks, only gravel shoulders. My mom refused to let me walk. She made the school district bus me.
The only bus available was the short bus.
I probably would have been teased a lot, if there were any kids who knew me well enough to know I was riding the short bus home. But no one did.
And I liked the kids on the short bus. They were different. And they didn’t seem to care that they were different. I never got to know any of them well enough to know why they were riding a short bus, or even what schools they were going to. None of them went to my school. One boy in particular was a real loud mouth trouble maker. He’s really the only kid I can remember.
It seemed like nothing phased him.
Everything phased me.
My first bus ride home was my first bus ride, ever, and I was too shy and quiet to say anything when the bus driver went right past my house. It wasn’t until we were about a mile away that anyone noticed. I must’ve said something to a kid near me, because Mr. Loudmouth spoke up and told the bus driver. She had to turn around and head all the way back to my house. I was mortified. I can still feel the pang of that embarrassment. And that horrible feeling of needing to speak up but being unable to.
Sometimes I really do think I’m autistic.
November 18th, 2008 at 2:44 pm
I was never a bus rider–of any size. I’ve always felt like I missed out on some kind of childhood rite of passage.
I, too, had (and still sometimes have) difficulty speaking up when I need to. That’s something I’m trying to teach my kids to do. In an unobnoxious way. It’s sometimes a difficult balance for them.
My girls switched elementary schools this year with the opening of a brand new school. It’s been really hard on my 3rd grader who spent the first three years of her school career with the same group of friends. She spent the first two months pretty miserable, convinced that she was destined to finish 3rd grade alone. I think she’s doing better now, but she still doesn’t feel like she totally fits in. It’s hard to watch her struggle with those insecurities, especially since there’s not much I can do about it.
November 20th, 2008 at 11:39 am
It’s a lot harder for girls to make new friends. Girls are so clique-ish.
We moved a lot when the kids were young. Every new place, Nathaniel would just go out and do something like pull a wheelie on his bike, and boys would gather around. If you can show off at something, and you’re a boy, you’ll have instant friends. It was a lot harder for Cat.