Because I'm that kind of person, I counted and subsequently deleted 35 e-mails this morning on the topic of changing our bus route from first on - last off to first on - first off. The subject matter involved all manner of "equity", "ride time regulations", "stop times" and other technicalities that I don't care to recall. Let it be known that this e-discussion took longer than a week of bus riding - we have a bus route with about 12 stops and a radius that can't be more than 3 miles. The kids are on the bus no more than 20 on the outside.
I grew up on a highway near the exit that you'd take to get to my school. The school was about 6 miles from my house and my parents never quite felt the urge to drive me to school. The ride to school was 20 minutes and the ride home took over an hour. I was last on, last off I guess. The point here is that I had to ride past my house, drive for over 45 minutes and then be dropped off at my house. Once, no kidding, I saw a robbery in progress at my own house as the bus barrelled past.
So - why not let me off 45 minutes earlier? Well, I lived on a highway, did you know? And the bus driver wasn't fond of dropping me off, in spite of 12 long years of begging, on the opposite side of the highway. I think that my parents respected that choice and, as far as I know, never made a call or sent a letter (the predecessor to e-mail) to the transportation people. No, my Mom made fruitcakes for me to give to my bus driver for Christmas and heart shaped cookies for valentines day. Just to show our appreciation.
So now here I am - spending my morning deleting engaging emails to the Atlanta Public School Transportation folks and all I can think is - "this is FREE!" We don't even have to pay for gas. Our kids are picked up and delivered safely. I think that's a pretty awesome deal whether it's 7:19am or 7:22am. But then again, I have lots to do.
When I lived in China, I took a fuel inefficient van to work everyday in a bus factory that half of the time was closed due to power outages. Then I'd ride back in the van, use 27 cotton balls to wash the grime off of my face, then get to work. There were kids on the street who would never see the inside of a school and there was no ride time equity in that daily adventure, only nausea from navigating the busy streets in one of those tall, skinny vans.
The point is this - maybe we're a little spoiled. Maybe equity in ride time is less important than our kids being bribed to nazi standards of behavioral perfection. But then again, perhaps this is the only thing that we parents can control - maybe the good, well trained transportation people are the only people who will listen to us. And so we speak. "We" being "them", obviously...
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