The Parent That Stalks The School Bus

It’s the middle of September and the heat of summer still roasts this area of South Jersey. I navigate the school bus down the residential street of $300,000 homes and then hit my yellow lights about 100 feet from the corner.

There, five kindergarten children with their moms and one dad stand waiting for me. For most of the five- and six-year-olds anxiously awaiting my arrival, this was their first experience on a school bus. With two weeks completed at school so far, the kids are doing remarkably well. I’ve got only one wailer, who screams from the time we pull away from the bus stop until we get to school. Once at school, she immediately stops crying and announces, “I love school.”

I flip the handle to open the door of my school bus and suddenly it’s a light show. Red lights blink in the front and red lights blink in the back. The crossing gate extends in front of the bus and the stop sign blinks red and extends.

As the children get on, I say good morning to them all and their parents. Once the children walk on the bus, I remind them of the row they sit in. Like a lot of drivers, I have index cards taped to the row above the window with their first names on it.

The cards remind them –and me — where each child sits and helps me with their names. By now, I know all the children’s names. There are several Caitlins, spelled several different ways, two Devons, a Tanner, a Jackson, a Mia and an Angelia, among the 35 kindergarten students on my bus.

When kindergarten children sit down and you, the driver, look in your big mirror above the driver’s windshield, it’s as if you are alone. They are all too small for even the tops of their heads to reach each row’s seatback.

You can just hear them — some giggling, some sobbing, some whispering to no one in particular. It’s eerie.

That’s when I notice her. A mom. She is standing in front of my open doors with her arms folded across her chest. I don’t know why, but I’ve somehow angered this parent.

She’s half my age — about 30 — wearing a gray business suit and matching scowl. I connect her to her child, who is Hayley, who impressed right away as smart and outgoing.

“Hi,” I say, trying to exude calm and friendliness to blunt the impending the tsunami of anger ready to crest. “You’re Hayley’s Mom.”