Friday, November 2, 2007

Bus ride. Reply to Ekcovox

The only thing that I didn’t like about school was school. I didn’t like the discipline, or the structure. I didn’t like the teachers that ruled with an iron claw. I’ve had responsibilities from a very young age, and I didn’t like someone else thinking for me, and telling me what I needed to do because I felt that I could think for myself. Wow, I didn’t know that I had pent up anger, and post traumatic stress syndrome from school!

I liked the camaraderie that I had with my fellow students, and one or two good teachers that I thought highly of. I got decent grades for a person with my attitude. I passed “shop class” with one-hundred and twenty-five percent. Top that! I got “Fs” in English, go figger. I elected not to join the military because a teacher explained, in great detail, that when I joined that I would have to follow even stupider people than they have in school. That did it for me. I was determined that when I left school that nobody was going to be telling me what to do ever again!

Strangely, I have had a remarkably non-confrontational and happy life, and I fit well within the rules of society, which is basically that you shouldn’t treat anyone worse than you might want to be treated yourself. Just don’t expect me to do anything stupid just because it’s your idea of what I should do.

Now, back to the trauma of school bus riding. I lived in Eel Rock in my sophomore year of high school, and it was a forty-five minute ride to Miranda on the school bus. Our driver was Jay (Last name of; expletive deleted). We called him “Jaymond, the little tin bus god”. The kids were all backwoods and milltown kids and were generally rowdy. Jay would not allow kids to put their feet in the isle at ANY time, which of course seemed ridiculous to all of us, because we were riding three to the seat, and you couldn’t stay in the seat without holding on to the railing. Of course the kids in the seat behind you would “Frog” your hand. Which meant that they would hit the back of your hand with their knuckle to raise a lump. You would let go of the seat whenever that happened and you would fall in the isle, or put your feet out to catch yourself. Jaymond (he hated that name) would stop the bus and come back to lecture you about the rules, and would put a mark by your name. Three marks and you would be kicked off the bus. So the other kids on the bus would check the list to see who they could get kicked off. I only got kicked off once. I always thought that all those fun-and-games were beneath my dignity to engage in, and that adult attitude seemed to appeal to the cute little blue-eyed blond girl from Arkansas that I liked to sit near. She knew that she talked differently and she was trying desperately to lose her “accent”, because the other kids would tease her and call her "Arkie'. In less than six weeks she was talking just like us. That amazed me that she could do that. You might have guessed that I was also infatuated with her. I’ve always been extremely shy, but I fight it off well, and I helped her with her speech therapy. I explained to her that the other kids thought that she was really nice, but they were just dumb kids and didn't know how to express themselves like us more mature types. She thought that I was very nice, and I thought that she was very nice… She ended up marrying the jerk that named her "Arkie", they have six kids and he still calls her Arkie! It bugs me to see her so happy. But all's well that ends well, I now have my very own lovely wife.

Thanks Eko, I was almost over being bitter about high school and you bring it all flooding back. Of course, there were some very good times in school, so I guess it’s alright that you reminded me. I would tell you about the good times, but I’ve been sworn to secrecy. So all you get is the bitter.


Carol said...

Hi Ernie!

I sent a link to Greg and asked him to link our blog to yours.

I am amazed at all the work you do to collect acorns and make Indian Ink and acorn soup and muffins.

Carol said...

Your bus driver sounds a lot like my bus driver growing up in Chatham Massachusetts. His name was Roscoe Gould. The back of his head looked like the jowls of an English Bull dog.

It was the best behaved bus, because Roscoe kept us scared. But he really was a nice man.

Anonymous said...

Heeellllloooooo! Anybody in there?

The Boy Most Likely to ... said...

I was not the only one to be kicked off the bus during my childhood.

Me and a school pal were messing around in the back of the bus, and we actually tossed a soda can (unopened) out of the window. We watched it explode on the highway and spray around. Well, so did the driver. We were each banned from the bus for a week. My mom was very angry. Those were some of the longest car rides I have ever taken to school.