I Hate the School Bus

My daughter had to start taking the bus in 1st grade. Due to the pandemic, as well as a crazy moving situation, she was driven her kindergarten year. At first she was excited to take the bus, what kid wouldn't be? Starting from birth you hear cute songs about buses and see sweet nursey rhyme videos displaying it as a happy environment. How many times are we as parents forced to watch Mother Goose Club or Little Baby Bum and see the adorable animals take the bus in their pretend world where everyone is kind and has a smile on their face? I imagine my highly sensitive and anxious daughter watching these shows, excited to take the trip on the bus and go to school with friendly faced peers. When reality hit, she realized that even though the cow smiled at the pig and moved over to let her sit, this wasn't the way the real world worked.

The first day was a whirlwind; we unfortunately are the last stop for pick up and I could see many little faces at the windows as the bus pulled up.

"Bye sweetheart! You are going to be great!"

I gave her a kiss and a squeeze and felt her squeeze back, although the tightness in my chest didn't stop after she let go. I watched her climb the bus and thankfully find an empty seat to sit in.

However, as school progressed, the bus became more full and she would go on and come right off crying. She sobbed saying she had no where to sit and no one would let her sit with them. As an anxious person myself, this is the last thing I wanted to hear.

"Did you ask if you could sit with them? What did they say? You have to be assertive." I could feel my anxiety turn to frustration as I shot her question after question.

"We will work on it," I said taking a deep breath.

And we did. Countless times we role played how to speak up and use our voice to stand up for ourselves. Unfortunately it didn't carry over like I had hoped. She continued to get off the bus after walking up and down the aisle trying to find a seat. I didn't know what to do, I felt like I needed to advocate for her but at the same time, wanted her to learn how to be resilient. I wanted to reach out to the school and let them know that this overcrowded bus was suppose to have assigned seats but there was no one implementing this. As a people pleaser I wondered if they would find me annoying. Would I be known as "that parent"? My first email contained many agreeable phrases such as "I'm sorry for the bother" or "If you wouldn't mind", "Thanks for the help", and " I really appreciate it". I would refresh my email every 2 minutes, impatiently waiting for the reply, unsure if it was more to ease my own anxiety or to figure out what my daughter should do. Then it came, friendly, kind, helpful. I was told that they will be implementing assigned seats, that the bus driver would be spoken with, and it would all be handled. I smiled, satisfied and content.

But nothing changed. So I waited because I understood that these things take time. There are different levels of communications that had to be made, let's not rush it. A week went by and unless she found an empty seat, she would continue to come off crying. Now I was getting frustrated. I reached out, I was nice, what was the issue? I decided to speak to someone at the school to get a feel of what was going on. It went similarly as my email, the niceties were said. I smiled and nodded when they told me it was being figured out, and thanked them as I left.

Once again, no change, a week and a half went by. The anger started growing more and more. She would have difficulty sleeping, crying about what was going to happen on the bus the next morning. I couldn't sleep because of the uncertainty of what would unfold. Where was the friendly cow now?

My heart broke every time I saw her walking up and down that bus looking for a seat. The last straw was when I saw her sit down at a window seat after a 2 minute stand off with a boy who finally moved to let her in. She turned to look and waved at me with tears streaming down her face. I couldn't do anything as the bus drove away and that whole day until she came home I felt helpless.

I had to take things into my own hands. Asking for help and being nice didn't work. I started to understand more why people had to be blunt to get things done. I decided to go on the bus myself to see what was happening. As it came by, I felt my heart beating as the other neighborhood parents watched me while I climbed up the steps. I couldn't even hear myself think through the yelling, jumping and craziness of the bus. When the kids saw me, they looked up, suddenly quiet, and I introduced myself as the "aid" and told them I was here to make sure things were going well. I saw a bunch of boys, in three seaters, one per seat. Okay, there are plenty of seats here, what's the problem?

"Hi, can she sit here?" I politely asked the 8 year old boy.

"NO" he said to be making a cross with his arms.

Um what? I moved on to the next seat.

"Hi can she sit with you?"

He looked me dead in the eye, "No."

I assumed I couldn't curse at a child so I looked towards the two seater and a sweet girl smiled and my daughter sat with her.

The bus driver started yelling "Sit down! Sit down!" making it even more overwhelming for kids trying to find seats. I could feel the heat rise up in my chest as the parents watched me get off the bus and wave at my daughter. I stood shaking, imagining my daughter practicing her assertiveness skills and being told no many times, at which point her anxiety would take over. What was she suppose to do? I didn't even know what to do. Am I being overly protective or is this a point where I need to step up and do more? There is no handbook on how to handle these situations so I continued to go on the bus for the next week, under the façade that I was an aid posted at the last stop so kids wouldn't tease my daughter for needing her mother on the bus. I knew I couldn't keep doing this, although it appeared to be working. At some point, we had to figure this out and she had to be independent. I already had emailed, I spoke to them in person, I even talked to the driver who basically shrugged his shoulders, still unaware what was going on. No more nice cow.

I went home and sat at my desk. I reworded the email to sound firm and direct. I explained that I had contacted them multiple times and waited weeks for something to be done. That I understood there was a shortage of drivers but we were promised assigned seats in the overcrowded bus. That although I was working with my daughter, as was the school counselor, I felt I still needed to advocate for her at this age. I explained I needed something to be done and done today. After re-reading it at least 10 times and controlling the urge to add an apology or tone of appreciation, I clicked send. My heart raced, as this type of email was not my style, but how can I expect my daughter to stand up for herself when her mother was just as anxious, if not worse?

I decided in that moment I would confront my anxieties when it came to my overly cooperative, people pleasing nature. I refused for my child to internalize any of these qualities from observing my behaviors. I entered into therapy to work on these deeply rooted issues which was difficult for me, as a therapist myself, to acknowledge I may be projecting my anxieties onto my daughter.

I am pleased to say that that afternoon, the director of transportation got on the bus and assigned seats to everyone. My daughter now knows exactly where to go on the bus and 90% of the time it all goes smoothly. That doesn't mean we stop there, because she needs to learn how to problem solve and gain self-confidence. I am still a work in progress and being a positive and healthy role model for my daughter is the most important thing I can do.

So yes, we don't like the bus, neither of us do. But if we avoid it, we only learn to continue holding on to these anxieties instead of figuring out how to handle them.

We both need to learn how to ride that bus.