It was before the days of compulsory kindergarten. Up to that point, the extent of my social interactions involved my siblings and cousins and Sunday School at a local Lutheran church. I think there are pictures, though I haven’t seen them for a while. Mom was there. I was likely dressed in a paisley shirt with plaid pants that came up to my navel, or maybe that was junior high.
With lunchbox and some form of ancestral Trapper Keeper from W.T. Grant in hand, we walked to the bottom of the driveway, crossed the street, and waited for the bus to round the bend. I can still remember it slowing down, coming to a stop. It was an old Dodge, probably from the late 50s, not nearly as big as the buses today. I don’t remember if it had all the blinking yellow and red lights that today’s models have. And it was definitely before the days of stop signs that popped out, and that long bar that protrudes from the front.
Anyway, the door opened and I looked up at Mr. Lemanski– gruff, cigar-chomping Mr. Lemanski. It was often difficult to tell if he enjoyed this daily routine, but he safely delivered us to school every day for the first few of those elementary years.
Amazing– what stays in your head.
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