The Absent Uncle: Stories
I have begun to notice over the past few months that the stories I recall and tell through my writings sort of leave out the longest part of my life. The stories from the school bus days just don’t spill out.
Years ago, I used to say out loud, “I need to write a book”. That the day-to-day in the school bus business was probably a bestseller or maybe the basis for a TV sitcom. And really, some of the situations were incredibly unique, and at the time entertaining.
But not so much these days.
It sometimes now reminds me of the pain that families are feeling; of the almost desperation they had to be feeling because of the events that sometimes put them up against an unmoving wall.
Whether it was the driver’s actions, the student’s behavior, sometimes the administrator’s decisions, or just overall the public’s perception of the day-to-day problems that I dealt with – well – the sitcom just isn’t there or even the book (as if I could write it!).
No. What kids and families are going through just to navigate the system, keep their noses above water, is not humorous or entertaining.
I was going through my box of memories today. I re-read an article about my first introduction to autistic students – about a young person I transported and his parents. I have no idea of where he is today; what has happened since 1976. I just remember the challenges he presented to me; what I had to learn about (from) him. And why I stuck with student transportation. He was the beginning for me. Talking to his dad. Trying to figure out what just might work to transport him safely. My supervisors didn’t care; if he misbehaves – figure out the use of restraints or document the behavior to kick him off the bus were the solutions.
That route– Bus 428, San Diego Unified in 1976 – picking up a beautiful child in the Allied Gardens area (who presented occasional problems being ready on time that resulted in a coffee on the gate post when I arrived to get me to wait and understand), then Rossi, with parents who loved him and wanted me to just take care of him (he was a serial rocker, in the literal sense), then on to Brad – the young man I re-read about today. There were two more – Dominic and Ariel – who had much shorter rides and were just as beautiful children and then delivering them all daily to Stevenson Elementary and working with teachers who were so dedicated to understanding the non-understandable autistic children.
It was a good feeling; I remember it fondly and feel so much empathy for those parents just looking out for their kids. The “system” just didn’t care; but those kids pulled me in for a lifetime career of working to change the system.
