“Dat Kate!”
Kate was in good spirits this morning in Autumn of 2007. After being so testy last night. Play play play. Even raided Gwen’s kitchen. Tho she did eat the eggs I scarambulled up with Irish cheddar. Play play play. She’s such a third grader and 8 years old. Soon to be 9. Kate is my wild, crazy ass daughter. And I love her madly cuz she is so daggone crazy. And I'm good spirits myself this morning, and being a jive talkin' country boy from the South who done relocated to the Northwest started talkin' like one. Which drives my kids crazy cuz they hate it and laugh.
Talia her little stepsister who I love like crazy, too is in Kindergarten and usually misses the bus. Today, however, she FINALLY got on the NEVERONTIME GOSHDANGDABNABBIT bus! Her bus is never on time with what seems a different driver every other week. But it is yellow, and that alone makes Talia proud to ride it. At 8:47 AM when I was about ready to throw down the kitchen towel I'd run out with from cleaning up in the kitchen and stomp on it her Big Yellow Schoolbus pulls up to the curb. With yet another driver! I hurry back home. There! Here comes Kate’s bus at 8:50 AM, but no Kate! She’s upstairs playing with the doll house toys after I’se done told her to put some shoes on her foots and git on out the do’! Befo I done didded walked Miss Talia to catch her everchanging bus stop. Oh Lord!
“KATE!” I yelled, sounding like an adult version of Junie B. Jones’s husband. “Yer bus is here! Whatchoo be doin’ upstairs!!!”
She flew down the steps barefooted.
“The bus looks like its goan!” I shouted as I ran to the office and peeketed out the window. The big yeller bus had pulled down to the end of the block and was just waiting for Katie, lights blinking. Apparently Kate has already developed a reputation with the driver, a regular driver, nice man from the Horn of Africa. One learns patience living in countries plagued by perpetual warfare and famine. How big a problem, after all, is an American child late for the bus when you spend your life drinking tea with bullets and bombs zipping all around? It brought back memories of when I used to work as a license massage therapist there was a time many of my clients were immigrants from Ethiopia, Eritrea, and Somalia. They all used to fight each other, many had battle scars such as healed bullet wounds on their bodies, and they all peacefully took turns here in America on my massage table. And the big yellow bus still sat out there in the street with lights a-blinkin'.
“It’s still heah!” I hollered once mo’. “It’s awaitin’ fer yew, girl!”
Kate looked askance with her perfectly combed fluffed out mane of golden hair, spun on her sturdy left heel and whirled thru the gate, actually latching the gate this time, racing barefoot to the bus, with a Croc under each armpit, and no jacket. And it was just starting to mist rain.
And she got on the bus. Knowing that if she missed it she had backup plan B (a nice, loving Daddy) and backup plan C (Daddy would likely make her walk to school) and even backup plan D (she can sneak out on her bicycle when she’s not supposed to).
Dat Kate! She is SOOOOOOOOO much like KRISTINA JEAN KATAYAMA whom I'm supposed to MARRY one of these years that I can’t STAND it! Always waiting past the last minute with utter fearless confidence and relishing the madness of that testosterone rush….oops, adrenalin, adrenalin, right, Kristina?
William Dudley Bass
September 25, 2007
© by William Dudley Bass
Talia her little stepsister who I love like crazy, too is in Kindergarten and usually misses the bus. Today, however, she FINALLY got on the NEVERONTIME GOSHDANGDABNABBIT bus! Her bus is never on time with what seems a different driver every other week. But it is yellow, and that alone makes Talia proud to ride it. At 8:47 AM when I was about ready to throw down the kitchen towel I'd run out with from cleaning up in the kitchen and stomp on it her Big Yellow Schoolbus pulls up to the curb. With yet another driver! I hurry back home. There! Here comes Kate’s bus at 8:50 AM, but no Kate! She’s upstairs playing with the doll house toys after I’se done told her to put some shoes on her foots and git on out the do’! Befo I done didded walked Miss Talia to catch her everchanging bus stop. Oh Lord!
“KATE!” I yelled, sounding like an adult version of Junie B. Jones’s husband. “Yer bus is here! Whatchoo be doin’ upstairs!!!”
She flew down the steps barefooted.
“The bus looks like its goan!” I shouted as I ran to the office and peeketed out the window. The big yeller bus had pulled down to the end of the block and was just waiting for Katie, lights blinking. Apparently Kate has already developed a reputation with the driver, a regular driver, nice man from the Horn of Africa. One learns patience living in countries plagued by perpetual warfare and famine. How big a problem, after all, is an American child late for the bus when you spend your life drinking tea with bullets and bombs zipping all around? It brought back memories of when I used to work as a license massage therapist there was a time many of my clients were immigrants from Ethiopia, Eritrea, and Somalia. They all used to fight each other, many had battle scars such as healed bullet wounds on their bodies, and they all peacefully took turns here in America on my massage table. And the big yellow bus still sat out there in the street with lights a-blinkin'.
“It’s still heah!” I hollered once mo’. “It’s awaitin’ fer yew, girl!”
Kate looked askance with her perfectly combed fluffed out mane of golden hair, spun on her sturdy left heel and whirled thru the gate, actually latching the gate this time, racing barefoot to the bus, with a Croc under each armpit, and no jacket. And it was just starting to mist rain.
And she got on the bus. Knowing that if she missed it she had backup plan B (a nice, loving Daddy) and backup plan C (Daddy would likely make her walk to school) and even backup plan D (she can sneak out on her bicycle when she’s not supposed to).
Dat Kate! She is SOOOOOOOOO much like KRISTINA JEAN KATAYAMA whom I'm supposed to MARRY one of these years that I can’t STAND it! Always waiting past the last minute with utter fearless confidence and relishing the madness of that testosterone rush….oops, adrenalin, adrenalin, right, Kristina?
William Dudley Bass
September 25, 2007
© by William Dudley Bass
Labels: School bus madness
posted by William Dudley Bass at 9:00 PM
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