School Bus Traditions

Lisa J. Bigelow

I have a lot of stories about riding the bus, both city bus and school bus, but the school bus memories are, in general, more fun to recount. Probably because unlike on city buses, on school buses I never worried about getting peed on by sleeping toddlers up the aisle (something that actually happened once), being stalked by the weirdo who struck up a conversation with me, having other people think I’m a weirdo for striking up a conversation with them, or — more frequently — not having enough money or never seeing the bus that, according to the schedule, is supposed to arrive at a particular time.

So back to the school bus. I rode the bus to school all through grades K to 5, and I wasn’t crazy about the noise, heat, bad shocks, yelling from the driver, potential trouble with other kids, or the smell — which grew particularly oppressive in winter, when came the nauseating combination of heat blasting from the radiator, sludge from the streets, and the rubber soles of children’s boots. None the less, some of the school bus traditions, if they did not make it worth the while, at least made the ride more entertaining.

The tradition that kept you on the edge of your seat, so to speak, for the entirety of elementary school, was that fifth graders got to sit in the back of the bus, which is to say the last three rows or so. The half-seat by the rear emergency exit was particularly coveted. Any younger kids were rightfully shoved forward.

But this tradition proved disappointing when I actually got to fifth grade. For one thing, the shocks are worst in the very back of a thirty-some foot bus. You were liable to lose your peanut butter and jelly from the jolt of leaving the school bus ramp; I flew literally a foot off the seat into the air once. The second reason was because I was soft-hearted (and perhaps remembered when I, as a kindergartner, had been befriended by a fifth grader named Kelly from around the corner). Eric, a first grader from down the street, always sought my friendship and protection on the bus; in other words, he wanted to sit next to me. My peers actually seemed to understand and respect this, and didn’t put up a fight when Eric wheedled his way to the back where I was, but really I was embarrassed. First graders weren’t supposed to sit in the back of the bus. It wasn’t long before I made it my habit to sit somewhere in the middle of the bus again, with the rest of the younger kids — including, of course, Eric.

There were other traditions. The last day before winter break, the bus driver handed out candy canes. Shane, a kid around the corner who was a couple years older than I, often led sing-alongs. The songs weren’t the most savory, but somehow Shane had the charm to pull it off, at least in front of other kids. Steam on the windows was a good thing, because it meant you could make “baby feet” with a modified hand print. Or you could just play tic-tac-toe.

My favorite tradition remains one that was carried out twice-daily, provided that at least one person was paying attention at the right moment. Whenever we passed Dry Prairie Cemetery, about half-way along our route, all the kids shouted at the top of their lungs, “This bus is so lousy it’s gonna wake up the dead!” I have no idea where this tradition came from; I’m curious whether it is still carried out today.

The execution of that particular tradition speaks favorably of our bus driver. Although she often came off as overly stern (in other words, she yelled at us to be quiet a lot), I don’t recall her ever reprimanding us for shouting those words as we passed the cemetery.