The School Bus

From writing class, a photograph of two small children--a girl and a boy. The word I drew was "bus." This is a slightly fictionalized version of an actual experience.

I put them on the school bus--my two babies. Their first day of school. Actually, they're my two grandchildren, and they're not babies any more. But they'll always be my babies, at least to me.

They're going to a good school, and I know they'll do well. But when my daughter asked me to put them on the bus that first day, my heart froze.

"But they're not old enough to ride the bus! What if something happens to them?"

"Now, Mom, we're in a good neighborhood, and they're going to a good school. Their friends ride the same bus. They'll be fine. Don't worry so much."

So I did as she asked. They left the house with their bookbags and their lunchboxes, wearing their new school clothes and their new school shoes. They ran out to the bus stop in front of the house. The school bus pulled up and stopped, and I heard that distinctive sound of the bus door opening. I waved to them, and they waved back. They climbed aboard and found their seats.

As the bus drove away, I wiped away a tear. They're growing up too fast, I thought. When did this happen? They're not babies any more.