Schoolbus Bullies

     The yellow school bus bounced along the tree lined street.  The year was 1966.  Still sleepy and not always looking forward to the long day at school, we were usually quiet during the morning rides.  Every morning our school bus driver would pick up students along the familiar routes and bounce us to Martin City Elementary School.   The rowdy boys usually sat in the back rows along with a few more socially mature girls.  The quieter and more serious students most often sat towards the front of the bus where it was typically a little safer. This year we had Mr. Lane as our bus driver.  He was nice but never in control.  When the boys in the back tossed spitwads his way, Mr. Lane just kept driving.  Occasionally he'd glance in his rearview mirror to scowl at the merry pranksters.

     Towards the end of our bus route there were some children who lived in a dilapidated white farm house.  It was probably built in the early 1900's.  There was a genuine storm shelter and a small barn structure which housed real farm animals.  Further back on their property was a small fishing pond.  What was most distinctive about these kids, however, wasn't that they lived in such an old farmhouse, but that they appeared to be authentic Indians.  An older girl, probably 5th or 6th grade, a young sister and younger brother would literally run from the farmhouse side door to catch the school bus every morning.  Wearing their hair in long braids, the girls wore bright colored clothes.  The boy wore corduro pants, a plaid shirt with snap buttons and a short leather vest with fringe.  They would scramble up the steps of the bus, jump over the large band instrument cases,  then turn to face the rest of us already seated. 

     The three Indian children never smiled and only talked to one another. Their faces showed little emotion -- grave & serious at the same time.  The children moved down the aisle looking for somewhere to sit.  Others would scoot in their seats from the windows to the aisles in an effort to prevent the Indian children from sitting down beside them.  After the younger two found seats, the eldest would most often simply stand close-by staring stoically straight ahead. Sometimes all three had to stand while the busy bumped its way to school!   I wondered why Mr. Lane didn't stop the school bus so someone would have to move aside to let this girl sit down! 

     I felt awfully sorry for these children.  But I wasn't strongest enough to take a stand for them.   I tried to make eye contact in an effort to convey, "I'm really sorry," but more often than naught I wasn't very successful.  Once we did make eye contact enough to look into each other's eyes for a brief moment --and I could see anger.  It scared me.

     The family must have moved that summer because they didn't ride the school bus the next year.  The following year that white farmhouse was demolished.  Mr. Lane continued to drive for us, and eventually retired.  The boys in the back continued to make trouble and those of us in front tried to ignore the spitballs being thrown from behind.

     I've often thought of those three Indian children.  Where did they go?  How did their lives turn out?  Did the rest of their school years turn out as ugly as those times on the bus?  

      I wish I could've had the courage to sit alone and let one of the Indian children sit beside me.  Or perhaps I could have shouted to the rest of my friends,  "Hey, move over!  Let these kids have a place to sit, too!"  To my shame, I neither shouted my concerns nor sat alone to leave space for one of the Indian children to sit.   My root fear was facing the same persecution from my bus-mates that the Indian children had endured. 

      My hope is that growing older has given me the skills and wisdom to know when it's time to take a stand for someone else.  In our world, we still have gross injustices happening all around us.   My prayer is that I will be strong and courageous when such times arise. 

     I am reminded of what's known as the Golden Rule which says,  "Do unto others as  you want others to do unto you."  This is actually a bible verse from the book of Matthew, chapter 7, verse 12.  As I grow older it becomes more important to me that I respond to others with great kindness and courtesy.  Hopefully those ostracized children forgave the whole busload of us and were able to extend kindness to others despite their frank persecution.