It's happened every
snow-filled morning. The darkness is slowly being lifted by the creeping in of
light. Shovel in hand I methodically push snow to the edges of the driveway one
row at a time. Being a creature of habit I am usually out there at the same time
the task needs to be completed.
Over the first part of
this winter I have witnessed a scene that repeats itself each and every time
I'm out there. Of course, right before the scene unfolds I am not even thinking
about it...but then it occurs.
The still of the cold
air early in the morning is broken by a low rumbling in the near distance. The
sound move quickly toward me and into my sight from around a bend appears a
school bus. Dirty with gray-black snow on the wheel wells, smeared with the distinctive
shade of road salt along its body, the large yellow-orange vehicle barrels
forward. As it catches my attention I stop to look at the bus, maybe just to
give my arms and back a rest, and there he is.
Walking down the
street in the same direction of the bus is a young man, maybe late Junior high
or early High School aged. He walks along the side of the left side of the
road. As the bus passes him he always looks up, taking his eyes from the snow
being thrown in front of him by his own feet to the bus that cruises past him
with the sound of its diesel engine clanking.
The bus driver reaches
the next bend in the road and makes his turn only to stop and pick up a two
kids waiting in the cold. The red lights flash, and the little "stop"
sign controlled by the driver is now visible. The walking boy continues to walk
at the same pace. He passes our driveway and just at that moment I can hear the
squeak of the bus "stop" sign being corralled against the side of the
bus. The boy picks up a bit of speed. The bus lights continue to flash and the
bus idles in the frigid air. The boy's legs begin their run. He raises one arm
as he maintains his balance over the icy road. His voice lets out a word or two
that I can never really understand. The bus lets out its own sound of gears
changing from "Park" to "Drive". The tail lights' glow
disappears as the driver releases the brake and it lurches forward only a foot
or two when the tail lights are illuminated once more.
The boy reaches the
bus, boards it, and is off to school.
It seems to me that
this boy and the bus play this "cat & mouse" game every morning.
It's almost as if they are following a script. Rehearsing for something in some
way. It also made me think once I had witnessed it this most recent time. It
made me think of my own students.
I see them when they
arrive to my classroom each morning and our day begins quickly. It runs on high
speed until they depart at the end of the school day. But what goes on in-between?
What happens from the time they leave me to the time they return to me? Did
they have a good night or not? Did they get enough sleep or were they kept up
with nightmares? Were they late getting up and had to rush around or have they
been up since the sun rose?
Kids are curious in
that sometimes it's not so easy to see past their surface expressions and get a
handle on what's really going on, positive or negative. Their eyes often tell
us more than their words can. I learned this partially in a class I took while
earning my Master's Degree in Education. It was the last class before I
received my diploma. The instructor weaved into the class the idea of taking a
moment each day and make eye contact with each student; to learn to read the
message hidden within, to make a connection.
As the engine noise of
the bus disappeared into distance and I turned to scoop up another shovelful of
snow I also wondered if the boy in the street ever made eye contact with any of
his teachers, and if so, did they know what he might be saying?
Mr. Casten
Jan. 31, 2014
Copyrighted
material of Michael C. Casten
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