My Job, My Joy, My Purpose, My Life! (2007)

As I sat poised behind the wheel of Bus 11, waiting the arrival of my 5th and 6th grade passengers, the hot summer sun of late August engulfed me; the air thick and inescapable. I never envisioned driving a bus to supplement my income as a first year teacher; nevertheless I found myself in very place. I suppose I enjoyed driving the bus, or at least I told myself I did. We had been in school for three weeks and the relationship with many of my passengers had already taken root. I had all ages of kids, from kindergarten to seniors; a variety of personalities, along with a variety of socio-economic backgrounds. Joshua is a unique district. Joshua is a small town encompassing a large area, servicing students who reside in half-million dollar homes to students who in pre-fabricated portable storage buildings with a toilet and a window unit. Regardless of status or situation - kids are kids - they all want the same things. I sat eagerly awaiting school to dismiss so fresh air could be filtered through the bus window. I had no idea, however, of the profoundness of the situation was about to occur - nor of the impact it would have on me as a teacher and as a man. The bell rang and here came the kids, in a single file line for a moment, then in a mob. Each rushed to be the first on the bus to get primo seat. The intermediate campus was my first stop-then on to high school, middle school, and then finally to one of our three elementary campuses. Getting a good seat at the rear of the bus and by a window was crucial. Sitting at the back of the bus was reserved for the older kids, but the younger ones wanted desperately to be near the back. They wanted to be accepted, wanted to get in on all the stuff happens on the back of the bus, out of reach of the driver. On this day, as always, 5th grader Dakota was at the back of the group, the last one on. She seemed to have no desire to establish any sort of status with the group. She chose to sit in the front seat. She was a really big help to informing me of where all the stops were, who rode everyday and who didn't; who lived in which house, who was good and who was bad; a wealth of information from a typical 11 year old girl who beamed with enthusiasm and energy. As we pulled away Dakota initiated conversation as she had done everyday. She asked how my day had been, if I was hot in that tie, what I was going to do when I got home. She then asked me if I was going to the open house was coming up in a few days. Yes, I said, a teacher; I have to be there. She said she was excited because her class made these really cool pictures and she wanted everyone to see hers because she thought she had done a really good job. I said, man, I bet your folks will be proud when they see what you've made! Without hesitating she said, Well, I don't know. My mom can't be there because she is in prison and I have never met my We, (she has an older brother in 8th grade), live with my grandparents. My grandpa is handicapped and doesn't get around very well and my grandma works at night so she won't be able to be there either. Will you come to open house and see what I made? Well, of course I will - thanks for inviting me, I said. It's sad about your mom and grandpa, but it's good you do have grandparents love you and give you a place to live. Yes, she said, we've lived with my grandparents most of my life. My mom has been in jail for about three years and is supposed to get out when I'm in the seventh grade. I just wish I had a dad. Mr.Key, will you be my dad? I went to her open house year, as well as the next three years, until she got to high school and then we were there together. She was bound to career and technical courses through an extensive list of academic modifications through her individualized education plan. …