The Bus

It was third grade when busing started. I was bused to the Paul A. Dever School over by the projects of Columbia Point. I didn't want to go at first. Not that I was scared of leaving my own territory, but I liked the school I was already at before, the John B. O'Reilly. But after a while I ended up liking it. Most of my friends moved from the same school over to the Dever. I also met a lot of new friends. These new friends were mostly black. They were really good kids. There were white kids from other schools that got bused there also. I still go to school with some of those kids.

On the bus was a bus monitor. That lady was my mother. I could not act up as much as I would if it were someone else. Not saying I was a brat, but every kid acts up once in a while.

Everyone used to fight over the back seat so we could see the police escorts on their motorcycles play with their lights and sirens. So after all that commotion, they assigned all of the children seats. We had to sit in the same seat every day for the whole year. But I couldn't argue. It was my mother who assigned them. And I ended up with the back seat.