School bus hero changes a life
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During most of my bus-riding years, my family lived outside of Charlottesville, Va. Unfortunately for me, my middle school sat 15 miles from town in the opposite direction.
Even more tragically, I was usually the last to board and there were only a couple seats left by the time the bus reached my driveway. Quickly finding a seat amid the cruel jokes and teasing was brutal – like some twisted game of "Where’s Waldo?"
Over time, the bus became a laboratory of bullying and mockery and one morning I decided I’d had enough. So, with a burst of brilliant ingenuity, I scanned the trees that lined both sides of our gravel driveway and picked one 20 yards from the edge of the road.
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Then, I hid.
A few minutes later, the bus barreled down the road and slowed just enough for the driver to think I was a no-show. He punched the gas and continued on without me.
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I slunk out from behind the tree and said to myself, “Jason, you’re a genius!”
I glided back up to the house and explained to my mother that — silly me — I'd missed it and would need a ride to school. Soon I was strolling smugly down the hall to class and feeling like a winner.
Right until I passed a kid from my bus. “Hey, Jason, what happened?”
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“I missed the bus. Stinks, right?”
“No, I mean why were you hiding behind a tree?”
Gulp.
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“Wait, what?” I mumbled. “You saw me?”
“Not just me — we all saw you.”
Double gulp.
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“Huh? That’s weird. You thought I was hiding?” The words tumbled out of my mouth. “That’s crazy.”
The rest of the day was a blue blur. All I could imagine was the misery that awaited me the next morning. Mercifully, I had practice after school and wouldn’t have to ride the bus home.
The next morning I ate what I assumed would be my final meal and took the long walk down death row to the bus stop.
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When it finally came, I climbed on and stared down that narrow aisle that separated the rows of cracked green vinyl seats and prayed for a miracle.
His name was Roy.
This popular, friendly older kid could sit anywhere he wanted. He probably could’ve driven the bus if he’d asked.
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To my surprise, Roy slapped the empty seat next to him and smiled. I slid in and wondered what was next. An insult? A prank?
Instead, Roy asked me what kind of music I liked. I answered and he asked me another question. We talked about everything except the incident just 24 hours earlier.
He hadn’t given me a seat — he’d given me a lifeline.
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The next morning, I stepped onto the bus convinced it had been a one-time act of charity, some sort of strange nerd-outreach program.
I was wrong.
Roy again slapped the seat and gave me a nod. We talked the entire ride into school and I’d ever sat so tall. Before long, the entire culture on our bus was different.
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Summer soon came, and, sadly, I never saw Roy again. But if he added me on Facebook or passed me on the street, I’d know him instantly.
Now, as a father of four and frequent speaker in schools around the country, I think about Roy often and how his simple act of leading by example changed my life.
No teachers. No lengthy conferences. No anti-bullying interventions.
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It was just a simple act of kindness.
When I think back to that boy in the woods, I wonder if there isn’t a little bit of him in all of us. Everyone has those difficult days when we either feel invisible or wish we could be.
But isn’t there a little bit of Roy in all of us, too? It’s that willingness to say, “Hey, I’ve got room for you. Sit here.”
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Trust me – there is someone in your world and mine who needs us to see them today. They need us to be a Roy, to slide over and to slap that empty seat.
Come on. Let’s go get on that bus.