Lessons Learned (Or, "When Life Proves a Point").

There's this family that rides my bus in the morning. They have been riding my bus for maybe two months now. The first time I got on the bus and they were there, I was pretty taken aback. I saw a mother and three young children scattered in three different seats. The mother was somewhat sprawled with a toddler in the handicapped section. The 3- or 4-year-old was sitting two seats behind her. And the 5- or 6-year-old was sitting maybe two seats back and across the aisle.

The bus was filling, and all three kids were taking up more room than was necessary or courteous. People were standing in the aisle when there were a perfectly good seat next to stretched-out middle child and oldest child. I became ridiculously annoyed and started brooding about the hundred things I'd like to say to the mother or the bus driver or even the people around me, but I didn't say anything and continued brooding as one, then two, then all three kids started crying and/or screaming about something. When I neared my stop, I couldn't get off of that bus fast enough. Eugh.

I came home that night and complained up and down to my roommate and boyfriend about this discourteous, loud, annoying family that had ruined my once quiet (and usually peaceful) bus ride. I couldn't believe how much it bothered me. The next day the same thing happened, except the bus was even more packed. But, there were these children, sprawled across perfectly good seats, and the baby was given room to lay on the handicapped section, rather than being forced to sit in his mother's lap so someone else could sit down.

That day the bus was so full that I wasn't sure I could make it up to the front door to get out (as least without sticking people with my bag and stepping on toes), so I shouted to the bus driver to please open the back door, and of course she didn't because they almost never do, and so when no one approached the front door she quickly shut the doors and continued driving. I was unbelievably annoyed.

Then I heard a child's voice shout out "SOMEONE WANTS TO GET OFF THE BUS!" and the driver turned around, bewildered, and stopped the bus again so that I could actually disembark this time.

"So," I thought to myself "I'm obviously meant to find the good in this situation." I decided this was obviously a lesson that life was trying to teach me, so I devoted some time to looking for this lesson. Obviously, I knew, I should be thankful for the little (I say this with a hint of sarcasm) set of lungs that prevented me from missing my bus stop entirely. But, I knew there was more than that.

Each day, when I encountered the family on the bus, I searched for the good and appreciable in them. I knew this was more than just an exercise in maturity. I've worked with kids, a lot of kids, and I've learned (and continue to learn) that patience always has room to grow. But, again, it seemed like there was more to it than that.

So over the next few days, and then weeks, I observed them. I learned the kids' names (from the numerous times they are shouted on my ride). I've learned what they like to do, where the younger ones go to daycare, and the neighborhood where their mother works. One day, I even learned what kind of lunches they got as, on the rare occasion that the two older ones actually sat together, they decided to look at the contents of their lunch boxes.

The examination started simply enough with squeals and giggles, but the giggles shortly turned to shouting when the middle one smashed the oldest's sandwich, and then the oldest smashed the middle one's Little Debbie cake, which was followed by a great cry of despair and very brief, yet mournful, temper tantrum. For the first time, I actually found myself laughing at their antics instead of being annoyed. I looked over at their mother who, despite scolding them for the squished food and yelling, was laughing too.

One day, the middle one, once again in her own seat, turned around to the pair of adults in the seat behind her and stared intently. They paused to look at her curiously, but continued their conversation.

Obviously she was not content with the attention she had received so she began to lean toward them, closer and closer, until she was straining over the back of her seat. As if this weren't enough to garner the attention of the two now very confused people behind her, she smacked her bubble gum loudly and began to blow a bubble. She was so close to them that I was afraid the bubble would touch their faces (my mouth must have been agape) and then she reached out and popped the bubble leaving strings of gum hanging between her hand and mouth. The people behind her were now staring wide-eyed, as was I, and I guess this was the attention she had wanted because she turned around and sat back down in her own seat.

After I got over my sheer disbelief, and the nagging "where is your mother" finally stopped echoing in my head, I started laughing. The scenario was so ridiculous and over-the-top that I had to laugh. I decided not to even bother telling anyone about the latest escapade because I knew that if someone told me the same story, I probably wouldn't believe them. This kind of stuff only happens in movies, right?

Then one day, to my surprise, the moment of truth arrived. I walked onto my bus and found that the only available seat was next to the oldest child. Should I force her to scoot in, and appear to make a point? Should I walk past her and appear to deliberately avoid her? Either way I feared it would appear I was making some kind of point, and this wasn't my goal. What the hell. I walked up to her, peered down, and waited for her to move in. She looked at me, a bit surprised, and half-heartedly scooted toward the window.

I removed my hat, adjusted my headphones and leaned back in my seat, trying to ignore the fact that she smelled like baby wipes and telling myself that babies smell like baby wipes, and she lives with a baby, and she's a kid, and you're an adult, and stop being so damned judgemental.

Just as I had settled into breathing through my mouth a little body leaned across my lap and yelled "MOM!!!!!!"

I sat up, wide-eyed.

"MOM!!! I NEED HELP WITH MY HOMEWORK!"

"You should have done it at home."

"There's only one page and I need help!"

"You should have thought of that at home."

She opened a work packet of vocabulary words and synonyms and such, and stared intently at the instructions. The mother backed down a little and asked what the instructions told her to do. She read them aloud haltingly and with some trouble. She looked upset and said "I can't do this."
The mother responded "Yes, you can."

She looked down at the sheet and began sounding out the instructions again. She glanced between her mom and the worksheet a few times and then hunched down. I paused for a minute thinking of all the kids I have taught and helped and said "You can do this."

She looked at me with a good deal of surprise as I told her to match the words in the first column with the words in the second column that meant the same thing. I helped her sound them out and then talked through the possible answers with her. She came to one that baffled her and I said "Want to know a trick? If there's one you don't know, do all of the other ones first and the leftover answer is the answer to the one you don't know." She smiled happily and drew the line to the confusing word with pride when all the rest were done.

She looked at the next section of the work sheet and then looked at me. I told her to read the instructions, several times asking her what sounds certain letters made when she got stuck on longer words. It occurred to me that she was enjoying my attention when she had trouble sounding out words that, in previous sentences, she was able to zip through - but I didn't point this out and diligently reminded her to break long words into smaller pieces. We finished the last problem on her work sheet just as the bus reached my stop. She smiled happily at me and I smiled happily at her and told her "good job" and started to get off the bus. As I walked past the mother, who was holding the wiggling baby, she shouted back to her daughter "Did you say 'Thank You'?" The little girl, lost in thought, did not appear to hear her. The mother turned to me and mouthed "thank you" and I saw genuine gratitude in her eyes.

When I got off the bus I hadn't had the grand epiphany I thought I would when this situation came to a head. As I sat waiting for my next bus, I thought about how it was really nice to see a family, even a loud one, spending some time together in this hectic world. I thought about how nice it was just to see a happy family together.

The lesson I learned, and continue to learn, is this: Patience and kindness in all things.

The next time a situation like this presents itself in my life, I'll try not to be so quick with annoyance, and I'll try to be more understanding without taking weeks of introspection.

When they first popped onto my bus, I kept hoping and hoping that they'd switch to an earlier or later bus and I'd get my quiet bus ride back. Then one day, they weren't on the bus and things seemed too quiet. I found myself hoping that someone wasn't sick, or that they hadn't missed their bus. I breathed a sigh of relief when they were back on the bus the next day.

Patience and kindness in all things; even the things that bother us have the potential to bring us joy if we are open to receiving it.