Bus

My son loves the bus. Any bus really, but the bus ride to school is (or was) almost his favorite part of the school day. Well, he likely enjoyed the bus ride home better - but you understand.
The bus ride served as the perfect transition mechanism between his home routine and any school expectations that would happen on any given day of the week.

Almost without fail, everyday - there were stories of the bus ride. The juvenile, entertaining and harmless antics of the bus driver who apparently truly enjoyed his morning and afternoon duties with the kids he had temporary custody of. And almost every day this summer - also without fail - come laments over the loss of the same bus driver and the comfortable, repetitive routine he represented.

My son misses riding the bus. His bus.
He has all the makes and models memorized and is always interested in what types of buses other school districts use and for what purpose. In fact, once we were while traveling he commented, "I could never go to school here, their buses are ugly." There was no mention of any other aspect of the school district, neighborhood or an interest in the curriculum. Those were not important.

There were two occasions last school year when I was required to pick up my son from school early for some minor doctor's visit - a check-up or a trip to the dentist maybe. On both occasions my son would practically beg me to return him to school (despite that classes would be over by the time we arrived back at school) so that he could ride the bus home. We would just make it - two minutes to spare. Riding the bus was his routine and he worked very hard to protect it and keep it intact within his day - despite whatever else might be going on or how it might inconvenience anyone else.
If my son was feeling poorly, he would go to school anyway  - so that he wouldn't miss the bus ride. Or, he might refuse to come home early if he wasn't feeling well always citing his need to ride the bus to and from school. Unfortunately the same rigid adherence to routine made it impossible for him to stay after school to attend tutoring sessions or really for any other after school activity. He missed a great deal because of that damn bus, but I am sure that what he gained by sticking to his routine was more than he missed. The problem is . . .  I don't understand it. He does.
Those measures are only easily understood from one perspective. His. I can see what he missed in his grades over a few semesters when tutoring would have helped; in his small social circle that after school clubs may have grown. It is much harder for me to measure the comfort level he gained or sustained by the stoic presence of that giant yellow bus, day in and day out. I can only guess at the anxiety level that might have ensued would the bus driver had quit half way through the year or the bus route changed or worst and almost unimaginable, if the bus hadn't come one day.
I don't know what might have happened. I don't even like to think about it.

All summer my son has wondered if the bus will be the same this year; the same route, the same driver, the same schedule.
All summer he has been waiting for that card in the mail. The one with the bus schedule; his bus stop location and time.

When is that card going to come?

His class schedule . . .  he is not so concerned with.