“A route is a predefined path or course taken by transportation vehicles to move goods or services from one location to another, ensuring efficient delivery.”
When I was in elementary school, around nine or ten years old, I fell in love with the idea of making money by delivering newspapers. Somehow the idea of cruising the pre-dawn streets on a bike, tossing papers onto lawns and porches, seemed romantic to me.
The classified section of Dad’s Morristown, New Jersey, Daily Record presented me with such an opportunity.
I liked the Nintendo game called “Paperboy,” and I imagined myself as the video character, sans cartoon penis, pedaling hard and delivering newspapers for earned income. But I was a teenager without a car or the stamina to bike an entire paper route. I think my dad drove my deliveries during the small hours for about a week, and although my memory is blurry, I’m sure I quit the first week.
What I thought would be a dream job – part time – wound up tolling my dad, which I hadn’t accounted for.
I did it again later in life, this time to my husband. The “it” here being my accounting for other people’s roles in the schemes I involved them with.
When I decided we needed some extra income in the spring of 2025, I encouraged Russell to get a Certified Driver’s License so he could drive a school bus for our county. His dad, Captain Bob, drove one for many years and mentored the woman who became Russell’s supervisor.
On his first day as a trainee, Russell trimmed his gray-flecked brown beard and donned tan Khaki pants and a shirt with a collar. By his third week driving, he wore whatever was clean and comfy. Collar or not.
My husband’s guitar students always liked him, and he hoped the kids would feel the same way.
Some people try to relate to kids by poking fun at their expense, but my husband used dad jokes. He was playful with the kids on the bus, but he followed every official and safety rule to the letter, to a ‘T’ even.
He childishly made a six-seven joke to a bus full of substitute students who were specifically threatened by their regular driver with getting “written up” if anyone made the same joke. Russell finished his final safety check and looked in the rearview mirror.
“Sit down. We’ll be leaving in 6 to 7 minutes.”
One kid asked out loud, “Did he just say that?” Then a chorus of elementary school students laughed and repeated, “Six-seven.” If you’ve heard the response, you already know the hand gesture.
Russell never tried this joke on a middle or high school route. The middle schoolers were mean and the high schoolers didn’t care. Despite frustration and his decision not to renew his contract, Russell drove whatever route he was assigned. He always had the heart to follow through on his commitments, just like his father showed him.
After the Christmas holiday break, a fainting spell brought Russell to a heart doctor. That’s when he learned the law wouldn’t allow him to return to bus driving for at least six months.
We laugh about it now and consider writing “Tour of Duty: Season of the school bus driver.”