“My Story… ” Monday: A – Miss K.

(You can catch up on A’s story right here: The Pregnancy, The Birth, The Infancy, The Quiet Toddler, Advocating, What He COULD Do, Just A Boy, The (Hard) Next Step, Making a Friend, The Autism DiagnosisHe Talks, Hyperlexia, Your Baby Can Read, Another Evaluation, A New Kind of Special Need, Linear Algebra, The Triennial, The IQ Results, Bye, Bye Autism Diagnosis, Dr. C’s Plan, Second Grade Math, Is it too easy?, A Well-Rounded Child, Being a Team Player, The Acceptance of Children, Anti-Social?, The Boy Can TALK!, Gifts for Gifted Kids, I Don’t Like You!)

 

Alrighty then.  So we’ve established that the little neighbor girl apparently didn’t like A.

 

Here’s where I’d love to tell you that I sweetly smiled at her and murmured gently to A.  “That’s okay.  We all have different tastes and make different choices.  Perhaps someone else might enjoy the flower you picked.”

 

In truth, I’m quite certain I glared at that small child.  I didn’t say anything to her– I certainly didn’t give voice to the swirling unkind thoughts racing through my mind, “Cruel little spoiled brat child raised without kindness or manners… who SAYS that?… why is her mother just STANDING there?… nasty mean little girl… it’ll come back to her…”  So I guess that’s something, right?

 

But, no.  What I really did was spare that little girl a single withering glance before sinking to a crouch and wrapping my arm snug around the surprisingly broad shoulders of my preschooler. I didn’t say anything.  I couldn’t, to be honest, for fear the tears would spill.  He was doing a decent job of holding it together (though the pain was in his eyes) and I felt I owed it to him to do the same.  So I tried to support him– literally, physically– by holding him close until the bus arrived.

His driver, Miss K., was about the sweetest woman you could ever hope to meet.  She wore cowboy boots over tight jeans, baggy flannel shirts with the arms rolled up revealing colorful tattoos, and had an ever-present cup of cherry-almond Dunkin Donuts coffee.  She was competent and kind and had the perfect kind of personality for driving a busload of four- and five-year-olds.  She always knew just what was going on, but never sweated the small stuff.

 

She saw.  I know she saw.  She saw that he’d been hurt and she saw the mama-bear ferocity beaming out of my eyes.  She cast a subtle sidelong gaze between the two children and, after warmly greeting the neighbor girl, unbuckled her own seatbelt to walk A. to his seat.

 

** Now, here is where I admit this goes against policy.  Bus drivers in our district aren’t really supposed to get out of their seats.  But, in this case, I am so glad that Miss K. just brims with common sense.  She knew that putting on her emergency flashers on our quiet residential street was sufficient and she knew what was needed.**

 

While normally I would be the one to help him strap in (preschoolers all wear some sort of restraint), she gently helped him in.

 

She looked down at him, a buttercup tucked in her dark hair, and smiled.  “Do you know how much I love having you on my bus, kiddo?  It just makes my day to see your excitement each day.”

 

And she returned to her seat.

 

A. smiled up at me, shakily at first, and then with more conviction.  I was able to smile back.

 

Once again, I’d been so blessed to have a fabulous support network in place… to have others helping me navigate these sometimes rough waters.

 

Thank you, Miss K.

 

 

 

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2 comments to “My Story… ” Monday: A – Miss K.

  • The girl’s mother was right there?? You certainly can’t control everything your child says, but I am really surprised that she didn’t say something!!!

    This is a really sweet story (well except for the mean girl of course). I want your bus driver to take Grace to school!

    • She was an awesome driver. I don’t know what route she has now. Since they moved to full-day kindergarten, she’s not in my neighborhood. Boo! I like our current driver, too, but I still hold out hope that perhaps they’ll have Miss K. again for intermediate school. :)

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