City Bus Rides

First Bus Ride
First Bus Ride

Remember your first bus ride?  Actually, I only remember my second bus ride.  I was five years old, taking the bus home from morning kindergarten.  Going to school, I rode the bus with my older sister, so it was no big deal, but returning home by myself was a big deal. The bus driver missed my stop, so he let me off on the block behind my house.  (Geez, thanks, jack ass.)

I could see my house from where he let me off, but between me and home was a big German Shepherd.  I must have looked like fresh meat to that shepherd; he started barking and drooling the minute I stepped off the bus.  No way to get home, but on the path that led to the man-eating dog.  I began to cry … no, yell for my Mom, better yet, scream as loud as I could.

Mom to the rescue.  She was expecting me, and saw that the bus didn’t stop where it was supposed to, so she heard my desperate cries for help.  I don’t remember the bus rides as much as I remember the destinations: fifth grade after-school bus rides to the downtown YMCA swim lessons and after-dark rides home, a high school basketball game in North Omaha, the Army induction center, somewhere in blacked-out Bien Hoa, etc.  All of them … I was holding on tight.

Thought for the Day:  Courage is doing what you’re afraid to do.  There can be no courage unless you’re scared.    Eddie Rickenbacker

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