Mr. Brandon's School Bus - Tom Brandon

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      A normally cheerful student boarded the bus with his hat turned backwards and a disgruntled look on his face. As he sat there, he mumbled some rather grumpy remarks to those that were around him, who in turn looked back at him with puzzled looks wondering what they had done.

      It looked as if this situation would continue to deteriorate. It was time for “Bad Attitude Intervention.” I called his name, and he turned his furrowed brow toward me. “First things first,” I started. “I believe the first step to making this a better day would to be to turn that hat around so that you look like somebody who knows the front from back and not look like a hood.”

      He slowly complied with the request. “Okay, handsome young man, let’s move to step number two.” There was no smile on his face, but the frown had subsided somewhat.

      “Now I want you to look at each of the friends seated around you and say something nice about each of them, and they will say something nice about you.”

      There was an exchange of pleasantries such as, “You’re a good friend, I like your hat, you’re funny, and you’re nice.” As they looked at each other they began to laugh, and all was ended in good humor. Believing all was well, I left them alone. Little did I know, the snowball of happiness that I had put in motion was continuing downhill and was about to end in disaster.

      The first sign was on hearing the now happy young man singing, “I’m a tap-dancing monkey, I’m a tap-dancing monkey.” He had removed from his backpack an old-fashioned sock monkey, and it was dancing across the back of the seat.

      The musical cabaret continued with a performance of “Watch me whip, whip, watch me nae, nae.” There was a slight intermission with a discussion of what exactly was a nae.

      Then the snowball crashed into the peaceful valley below with sock monkey performing “I came in like a wrecking ball.” This is not something you want to see a sock monkey perform. It will crush and destroy precious sock monkey memories that you have cherished from your childhood.

      Note to self: a frown and furrowed brow are much preferred to an explicit sock monkey dance.

      Going down the road, a wide-eyed preschooler popped up holding up a small piece of trash and said, “Look what I found on the floor.” I enthusiastically replied, “Oh, you sure are lucky to find that. Be sure and put that in your pocket because that’s good luck.”

      He disappeared and came back up with another lucky piece. So I encouraged him to keep that one also. Before you knew it, all the preschoolers and kindergarteners around him were looking for lucky pieces. It was like a modern-day gold rush.

      At least a half a dozen kids went home with pockets full of luck. One was so lucky, he told me that he had to start putting them in his jacket pockets.

      By the way, there was a spot on my bus that looked like a Hoover had gone over it.

      One of the greatest joys of working in education is being present when the gears turn just right, the planets align, and everything clicks. The light bulb comes on for a student, and it all makes sense.

      Such a moment happened for one young man on the bus, and I was blessed to have him share it with me. In a voice that rang with the pride of accomplishment, he said, “Hey, Mr. Brandon, manure and poop are the same thing.”

      Knowledge is power!

      It was just before daylight, and the sun had not quite graced the horizon. The second-grader came to the bus with his backpack thrown over one shoulder, a thumb under the strap holding it in place. In the other hand he carried his sunglasses. Yes, sunglasses. You know how the blinding glare of the sun can beat down on you as you ride a school bus before daybreak.

      He paused at the steps, holding the sunglasses by one earpiece. He looked up at me, one eyebrow up, one down, and then flicked the glasses so the other earpiece swung gracefully out. Then ever so slowly, he slid them into place, every bit the man of mystery.

      Oh, I get it. Not worn for practicality but for fashion purposes. He proceeded up the steps, paused at the mirror, took the glasses off, smoothed back his hair, and slowly slid them back on like a bad biker boy.

      As he was seated I looked in the mirror to see him pull the glasses off again. He looked at me in the mirror and placed the glasses just so they sat on the lower part of his nose and the earpieces just touched the ears. As he continued to look at me over the top of the glasses, he placed one finger on the bridge of the glasses and slowly pushed them up his nose and into place with the “I don’t want to be disturbed” move. With this being done, he placed his hands behind his head and leaned back in the seat in satisfaction.

      The removing and replacing continued a number of times, using every model move he had ever seen on TV. He removed and replaced his sunglasses enough times, I am convinced, to have raised a blister on his ears. A trained model could not have demonstrated the merchandise better.

      Then came the sales pitch. As another young man boarded the bus, he pulled the glasses off with one hand, tipped the ear pieces toward the young man in typical authority fashion and said, “Son, your daddy needs to get you a pair of sunglasses just like these. You can find them in the sporting goods section of Walmart.” Then, in his ever so sophisticated fashion, he slid them back on.

      I don’t know if he is receiving any compensation, but I almost felt I needed a pair.

      “Well,” the young man said in a tone loud enough to gain the attention of those around him, “in a couple of weeks I’ll be having another birthday and you know what that means.” The students around him and myself waited to hear what that meant.

      There was a pause, then all was revealed,

      “I’ll be having a birthday, and then it won’t be but a few more years and I’ll be going through puberty, and things will start happening.” He definitely had my attention. He looked at the others and said, “Let me tell you about it.”

      I cleared my throat loud enough to get his attention, and he looked at me in the mirror. “There are some things that we do not share with younger children,” I said. He frowned and nodded his head yes.

      Then he looked at a second-grade girl seated in front of him and said, “Trust me, some changes are coming your way.”

      I cleared my throat again and shook my head no. So he changed tactics, paused for a moment, and said, “Mr. Brandon when did you grow that mustache?” I must have given him a disapproving look without realizing it, because before I could answer he said, “Come on, Mr. Brandon, give me a break here, big man is going through some changes.”

      Before I could reply, he continued. “I’m sure my older brothers will be good role models; they have already talked to me about”—I took a deep breath and gritted my teeth—“They have already talked to me about how to kick a football.”

      I hope that is the only step of puberty that we have to worry about at this time.

      If they ever find an industrial use for mucus, I have a kindergartener on the bus that I’m making a claim on. When you hear someone sneeze on the bus followed by a number of screams, you know exactly who it was that sneezed. I just hand back the whole box of Kleenex and say, “Give me back what’s left.” Talk about a renewable resource. He just keeps on giving.

      A little red-headed first-grader said, “Mr. Brandon, did you know that my mom was in your class when she was little?”

      “Yes, I did. And one of these days you will be old enough to be in my class just like your mom,” I replied.

      She continued, “Did you go to this school

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