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Preface

Tom Brandon

For over thirty years, I have had the privilege to be a part of education. During that time, I have taught, coached, and driven the bus. Most of these years have been at a small rural school—the chickens free-ranging the school grounds are an indication of just how rural.

The school is in north Alabama and is called Walnut Grove. The members of the community know hard work and the importance of family. They talk of work, school, church, hunting, and fishing. Camouflage is considered proper attire, for men or women, for any occasion.

When established in 1920, Walnut Grove went all the way through high school; it is now a K-6 school with about 250 students.

Walnut Grove’s commitment to excellence in education has won it awards on local, state, and national levels, including recognition as a National Blue Ribbon School by the U.S. Department of Education. What makes the school great is its faculty and staff and the community members who take pride in it.

Every school is unique, and Walnut Grove is no exception. We often use the phrase “Only at the Grove” to refer to the many unusual things that have happened at our little school over the years.

We celebrated Sweet Potato Day, by accident, when a farmer came unannounced to the school with an overabundant amount of sweet potatoes. We sent a bag of sweet potatoes home with each child.

One year, many months of work had been expended on a new baseball field. Opening day was looked forward to with great anticipation. But on that momentous morning, the game had to be moved to the visitors’ field, for during the night there had been a light rain. The rain itself was not enough to cancel the game, but it did soften the ground. Meanwhile, the dairy cattle on the other side of the fence developed a hunger for the delicious-looking grass on the new ball field. They came through the fence and left hundreds of six-inch-deep cow tracks all over the field.

We have paraded in costume, trick-or-treated in the hallways, and held a haunted house in the locker room of the gym. Because of the school’s small enrollment, we have been able to bus Walnut Grove’s whole student body over to the local high school for the homecoming parade.

We have played donkey basketball. Yes, that’s basketball while riding on donkeys. We’ve raised money in good Southern tradition by cooking chicken stew outside in big cast iron pots, held turkey shoots before Thanksgiving, and chili and bingo nights that get rather competitive. We even have a ghost.

Walnut Grove is a special place with special people. The stories that I share in this book are from my bus riders. I sincerely thank the students who have made my life richer by letting me be a part of their lives, as well as those that have ridden many miles on “Mr. Brandon’s School Bus” through social media. All have encouraged me to put these stories into print.

What makes these stories funny and engaging is that we all know these children. They are our childhood friends, our neighbors, or our own children. I hope you have as much enjoyment reading about them as I have had in bringing them to you.

Tom Brandon has been a teacher, coach, and bus driver, and over the years he has served on a number of advisory councils. His awards include Teacher of the Year at his local school, the Coca-Cola Always Teaching Award, and the Steve Harvey Neighborhood Award.

Family Outing

A first-grader approached the bus holding a small stuffed rabbit, a Mickey Mouse, and a toy cell phone. As I opened the door he said, “These are the little ones, and I’m keeping an eye on them today.” He then looked down at them and said, “You guys are killing me!”

He seated himself, and them, and told them he was going to talk to me, but he would be keeping an eye on them. He showed me his phone and said, “If you don’t mind I need to call my girlfriend.”

It was definitely a woman on the other end. I could tell by the tone of the conversation. He started, “Yes, I’m on the bus, and I have the little ones with me. Yes, yes, yes, okay, yes, yes hun, okay, talk to you later.”

Then he proceeded to call his buddy, Bob. “Hey, Bob. What you doing? . . . I’m on the bus with the little ones . . . Yes, I’ve got to keep an eye on them today . . . Yes, it’s their first time to ride the bus, but they’re doing all right.”

I’m not sure if this information about the little ones messed up a hunting trip or guys’ night on the town, but the next thing he said was, “Bob, don’t you hang up on me.”

He looked at me, shrugged his shoulders, and said, “I’ll have to call him back later.”

You never know when the burden of responsibility will be thrust upon you.

Where the Buffalo Roam

School bus route pickups start early and lend themselves to seeing some beautiful sunrises.

On such a morning, I had made several stops and was exiting a neighborhood. I eased the bus around a corner and brought it to a stop at the intersection. The bus was facing toward the rising sun and there, silhouetted against the sky, was a mother buffalo and her calf.

I could not help but pause and contemplate the beauty of God’s creation. Feeling kindly toward all men, I prepared to move on when an excited voice from behind me called, “Mr. Brandon, he just threw up.”

Looking in the mirror, I saw the offender peer over the seat with his little red face and watery eyes. He cleared his throat and said, “Mr. Brandon, what’s for breakfast?”

Charles Dickens once penned, “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times . . .” So it was.

Life’s Priority List

One morning, a second-grader with a rather distressed look on his face approached me. He said he needed to change seats.

So I inquired, “Why?” He took a quick look around, leaned forward, and whispered, “The person next to me keeps hitting me in my, my”—he took another look around—“my kumbayahs.”

On life’s list of important things to know, at least in the top five should be, “If your kumbayahs are ever in danger . . . move.”

In a Pickle with the Law

The second-grader leaned forward, pointed to the side of the road, and said, “Mr. Brandon, you see that spot right there? My mom got stopped by the police there.”

I wasn’t sure if I should ask why, but my curiosity was relieved when he continued, “She was speeding. Well, she was really mad at the dog for fart’n in the car. You do not want to be around that dog after she’s been eat’n hot pickles.”

He paused and I gave him a nod of understanding. He continued, “They do the same thing to me but I wait till I go outside. I can bring you some hot pickles if you want.”

How could I refuse an offer like that? The next day, he was standing at the bus stop with a quart of homemade hot pickles in each hand. I’m afraid I may have violated Ethics Law by accepting them.

Oh, he was right; they will work on you.

Charlie

Each of us has our daily routines. I try to leave the school each morning at the same time, each student expecting me at their familiar time.

Most mornings I pass the same cars that are also keeping their appointed schedules. There is the red car that I always meet going south as I go north. She always passes with a friendly wave and a warm smile. There is always that car with a Tennessee tag that flies past as if they are trying to qualify for the Daytona 500.

The routines continue with the children. There are three energetic boys that are always running around pushing and shoving each other as they wait for the bus. There are the procrastinators who always wait till the last minute to run to the bus from the house. Those putting on their shoes on the porch, so you will see them and not go off and leave them. The mother, in her well worn housecoat, who sticks her arm out the door and holds up one finger as if it were a flare to signal that her children will again take longer than anyone else on the route to get to the bus.

Then there is the daily routine of Charlie. When I stop to pick up one second-grader, Charlie is there to greet his master as he runs from the house to the bus. In the afternoon Charlie, is there again to greet him as he gets off the bus. Rain or shine, Charlie is a constant.

One morning as the second-grader emerged from the house, Charlie was excitedly wagging his little stubby tail so hard that it was shaking his entire body. You couldn’t help but smile and feel a little chuckle in your heart. I didn’t know goats could wag their tails like that.

Twins

Sisters, ages four and five who look very, very much alike, got on the bus, looked at me, and said in almost perfect unison, “We are not twins today. We are not twins tomorrow. We have different coats. We have different book bags and different hair bows.”

Defensively, I said, “I never said you were twins.”

They growled back, “Other people have been calling us twins, and if it keeps up there’s going to be trouble. Somebody’s going to get whipped!” Then once more in perfect unison they said, “WE ARE NOT TWINS!”

I feel sorry for anyone who uses the T-word in front of them.

Meow

With Pop-Tarts in hand, the pre-K student struggled up the steps to the bus. He looked at the package of Pop-Tarts and then at me and asked, “Can I eat these? I didn’t have time this morning.”

Well, the bus rules strictly forbid eating or drinking on the bus so I looked into his little innocent face and said, “Sure, but I better not find any crumbs on the floor of my bus.”

With a grin on his face he started down the aisle to find a place to sit. Within a few minutes he was back at my elbow, “Mr. Brandon, I don’t think I can eat these without getting a few crumbs on the floor.”

“I understand,” I told him. “But be careful and don’t get too many.” Later he was back with a Pop-Tart in hand and said, “Here you go, Mr. Brandon, you can have this one.”

Not being a Pop-Tart fan I was not particularly interested, but I assumed it was an offering of gratitude for letting him eat the other one on the bus, knowing that most likely there was a small mountain of Pop-Tart crumbs on the floor.

As he handed me the Pop-Tart he added, “It’s a super hero Pop-Tart.”

I looked at it, and sure enough, there was Catwoman. I might have been able to turn down a Pop-Tart at any other time, but a Catwoman Pop-Tart, I don’t think so. I think you could market mud pies if they had a picture of Catwoman on them. You put Catwoman on a Pop-Tart and that thing comes out of the package hot, no toaster needed.

As we pulled onto the school grounds he was once again at my side, waiting to get off the bus. Knowing that students are supposed to wait till the bus has come to a complete stop before they line up, several of the students told him he should sit down. His reply made clear that I had been a pawn in a web of graft and corruption.

He said to them, “It’s okay, I gave him a Pop-Tart.” It turned out the Pop-Tart was a payoff, a bribe; my good reputation had been compromised for a place in the front of the line.

Now the other students addressed me, “Mr. Brandon, he needs to sit down. We haven’t stopped yet.” I turned and looked at the driver’s side window where I had carefully stood a Pop-Tart.

Looking back at me was Catwoman. Memories of Julie Newmar and Lee Meriwether flashed through my head, and I said, “It’s okay, he gave me a Pop-Tart.”

As they say, every man has his price.

Tag, You’re It

There was a squeal from the brakes as the bus came to a stop in front of the house. As if in response, a shriek came from the house as a kindergartener burst out the door and ran to the bus waving her arms erratically in the air.

Close behind was her second-grader brother swinging his book bag over his head with one arm and the other arm was just waving around wildly. Every other step was a jump in the air.

Even though the door to the house had been closed, I know, I know I heard a voice say, “Tag, you’re it.”

Not My Angel

While taking children home after school, I noticed a car behind me that was very erratic in its movements. Concerned about such a vehicle following the bus too closely, I watched in the mirror to see if I could tell what the matter was.

I recognized the driver as a mother I had talked to earlier in the day. Her son had been put off the bus for his refusal to stay seated. She had, quite adamantly, told me that I was wrong and had judged her child too harshly.

The erratic movements of the car were from her trying to get hold of her child, who was in the back seat jumping from side to side like a rabbit.

Mom, I think you’ll find he was just excited and misunderstood.

Young Apprentice

We have all had a question asked of us to which we believe the answer should be very obvious, and in spite of our better judgement often answer in a very sarcastic way to show the foolishness of the question. I myself have been accused of engaging in such activity.

I was driving down the road and a second-grader—you know him as “Hot Pickle Boy”— asked me, “So what are you doing?” In a tone fitting for such a question, I replied, “I’m waterskiing. What are you doing?” Without hesitation, and in the same tone, he said, “I’m driving the boat.”

I couldn’t have been prouder.

Consequences

A normally cheerful student boarded the bus with his hat turned backwards and a disgruntled look on his face. As he sat there, he mumbled some rather grumpy remarks to those that were around him, who in turn looked back at him with puzzled looks wondering what they had done.

It looked as if this situation would continue to deteriorate. It was time for “Bad Attitude Intervention.” I called his name, and he turned his furrowed brow toward me. “First things first,” I started. “I believe the first step to making this a better day would to be to turn that hat around so that you look like somebody who knows the front from back and not look like a hood.”

He slowly complied with the request. “Okay, handsome young man, let’s move to step number two.” There was no smile on his face, but the frown had subsided somewhat.

“Now I want you to look at each of the friends seated around you and say something nice about each of them, and they will say something nice about you.”

There was an exchange of pleasantries such as, “You’re a good friend, I like your hat, you’re funny, and you’re nice.” As they looked at each other they began to laugh, and all was ended in good humor. Believing all was well, I left them alone. Little did I know, the snowball of happiness that I had put in motion was continuing downhill and was about to end in disaster.

The first sign was on hearing the now happy young man singing, “I’m a tap-dancing monkey, I’m a tap-dancing monkey.” He had removed from his backpack an old-fashioned sock monkey, and it was dancing across the back of the seat.

The musical cabaret continued with a performance of “Watch me whip, whip, watch me nae, nae.” There was a slight intermission with a discussion of what exactly was a nae.

Then the snowball crashed into the peaceful valley below with sock monkey performing “I came in like a wrecking ball.” This is not something you want to see a sock monkey perform. It will crush and destroy precious sock monkey memories that you have cherished from your childhood.

Note to self: a frown and furrowed brow are much preferred to an explicit sock monkey dance.

One Man’s Junk Is Another Man’s . . .

Going down the road, a wide-eyed preschooler popped up holding up a small piece of trash and said, “Look what I found on the floor.” I enthusiastically replied, “Oh, you sure are lucky to find that. Be sure and put that in your pocket because that’s good luck.”

He disappeared and came back up with another lucky piece. So I encouraged him to keep that one also. Before you knew it, all the preschoolers and kindergarteners around him were looking for lucky pieces. It was like a modern-day gold rush.

At least a half a dozen kids went home with pockets full of luck. One was so lucky, he told me that he had to start putting them in his jacket pockets.

By the way, there was a spot on my bus that looked like a Hoover had gone over it.

Cosmic Alignment

One of the greatest joys of working in education is being present when the gears turn just right, the planets align, and everything clicks. The light bulb comes on for a student, and it all makes sense.

Such a moment happened for one young man on the bus, and I was blessed to have him share it with me. In a voice that rang with the pride of accomplishment, he said, “Hey, Mr. Brandon, manure and poop are the same thing.”

Knowledge is power!

Spokesperson

It was just before daylight, and the sun had not quite graced the horizon. The second-grader came to the bus with his backpack thrown over one shoulder, a thumb under the strap holding it in place. In the other hand he carried his sunglasses. Yes, sunglasses. You know how the blinding glare of the sun can beat down on you as you ride a school bus before daybreak.

He paused at the steps, holding the sunglasses by one earpiece. He looked up at me, one eyebrow up, one down, and then flicked the glasses so the other earpiece swung gracefully out. Then ever so slowly, he slid them into place, every bit the man of mystery.

Oh, I get it. Not worn for practicality but for fashion purposes. He proceeded up the steps, paused at the mirror, took the glasses off, smoothed back his hair, and slowly slid them back on like a bad biker boy.

As he was seated I looked in the mirror to see him pull the glasses off again. He looked at me in the mirror and placed the glasses just so they sat on the lower part of his nose and the earpieces just touched the ears. As he continued to look at me over the top of the glasses, he placed one finger on the bridge of the glasses and slowly pushed them up his nose and into place with the “I don’t want to be disturbed” move. With this being done, he placed his hands behind his head and leaned back in the seat in satisfaction.

The removing and replacing continued a number of times, using every model move he had ever seen on TV. He removed and replaced his sunglasses enough times, I am convinced, to have raised a blister on his ears. A trained model could not have demonstrated the merchandise better.

Then came the sales pitch. As another young man boarded the bus, he pulled the glasses off with one hand, tipped the ear pieces toward the young man in typical authority fashion and said, “Son, your daddy needs to get you a pair of sunglasses just like these. You can find them in the sporting goods section of Walmart.” Then, in his ever so sophisticated fashion, he slid them back on.

I don’t know if he is receiving any compensation, but I almost felt I needed a pair.

Changes

“Well,” the young man said in a tone loud enough to gain the attention of those around him, “in a couple of weeks I’ll be having another birthday and you know what that means.” The students around him and myself waited to hear what that meant.

There was a pause, then all was revealed,

“I’ll be having a birthday, and then it won’t be but a few more years and I’ll be going through puberty, and things will start happening.” He definitely had my attention. He looked at the others and said, “Let me tell you about it.”

I cleared my throat loud enough to get his attention, and he looked at me in the mirror. “There are some things that we do not share with younger children,” I said. He frowned and nodded his head yes.

Then he looked at a second-grade girl seated in front of him and said, “Trust me, some changes are coming your way.”

I cleared my throat again and shook my head no. So he changed tactics, paused for a moment, and said, “Mr. Brandon when did you grow that mustache?” I must have given him a disapproving look without realizing it, because before I could answer he said, “Come on, Mr. Brandon, give me a break here, big man is going through some changes.”

Before I could reply, he continued. “I’m sure my older brothers will be good role models; they have already talked to me about”—I took a deep breath and gritted my teeth—“They have already talked to me about how to kick a football.”

I hope that is the only step of puberty that we have to worry about at this time.

Staking a Claim

If they ever find an industrial use for mucus, I have a kindergartener on the bus that I’m making a claim on. When you hear someone sneeze on the bus followed by a number of screams, you know exactly who it was that sneezed. I just hand back the whole box of Kleenex and say, “Give me back what’s left.” Talk about a renewable resource. He just keeps on giving.

Counselor in the Making

A little red-headed first-grader said, “Mr. Brandon, did you know that my mom was in your class when she was little?”

“Yes, I did. And one of these days you will be old enough to be in my class just like your mom,” I replied.

She continued, “Did you go to this school when you were a little boy?”

“No, I lived in another state. I lived in Oklahoma.”

“You mean you had to move off and leave all your friends?” At this point in the conversation, I reached up to wipe something out of my eye. I felt a little hand patting me on the shoulder and then a soft voice said, “Are you crying, Mr. Brandon?”

At this same moment, we passed a cemetery and she said, “There are a lot of people out there. Do you miss your mom and dad?” I replied, “My mom and dad are still alive.” A moment’s hesitation and she tried another approach, “How about your grandma and grandpa?”

Then, the little hand returned to patting me and she said, “Mr. Brandon, do you get frustrated sometimes?”

I think her career path has already been chosen.

What Could Have Been

As the bus climbed the small hill approaching a rather challenging young man’s house, no one was standing at the end of the drive. My breathing slowed and I gritted my teeth, trying to hold back the emotions.

I slowed the bus to a stop. Still no one. I fought back the dream of what the ride might be like. A few more seconds went by. Still no one.

The sun came through the trees. The wheat in the fields was golden, and the birds began to sing. My heart leapt with joy. My foot moved from the brake to the accelerator.

In that very moment of delight, the front door flew open and out he ran, followed by his little brother. I looked to the heavens and said, “Now, Lord, that was just mean.”

Sir Isaac

Newton is well known for his three “Laws of Motion.” Less well known are Brandon’s “Laws of Buses.”

1. Law of Speed and Digestion: The faster you need to get off the bus and do something else, the better the chance someone will throw up, requiring you to spend a little more quality time on the bus. Also related is the fact that the sicker a rider is, the further his house or school will be.

2. Law of Behavior and Attendance: The more discipline problems a student is involved in, the greater the chance they will have perfect attendance. This law has proven equally true in the classroom.

3. Law of Directionality: When driving an unfamiliar route, the first student to get off the bus knows the route best. The student who gets off last not only does not know the route, but does not even know his or her own address.

Lookin’ Good

Dressed to the T’s and all grins, it had to be kindergarten graduation. As they came to the bus, they wanted you to see how dressed up they were, so at the top of the steps each paused for inspection.

A little girl, in curls done by her personal-hairdresser Mom, had to show me her new dress, the latest in fashion in north Alabama, new shoes normally reserved for church, and earrings just like a grown-up. She said, “Mr. Brandon, I bet you didn’t even recognize me.”

One little boy showed me his new tie and even bent over to let me smell his hair gel. I said, “Man, you look sharp today. You getting married or are you preaching today?”

He just flashed a missing-half-my-teeth smile and said, “I’m all tucked in and lookin’ good.”

New Grade, New Experiences

Mr. Mucus got on the bus all excited about going to the first grade. First, he patted me on the shoulder and reassured me that I was still his buddy. I looked to make sure nothing sticky was left behind.

Then he told me how things would be different in the first grade. He said, “In kindergarten, we had cubbies to put our stuff in, and in your room they have lockers. In first-grade, we have hookers.”

I was hoping he just meant hooks, but just in case, I made a trip past the first-grade rooms that day.

Don’t Shoot

Anyone who has been around Hot Pickle Boy for any length of time knows that he is one of the greatest untapped resources for natural gas in the United States. Trust me, when he steps up beside you, grins, and says, “I’m fix’n to pull the trigger on this thing,” it’s not going to be pleasant.

Academic Excellence

Walmart has nothing on our bus. We also have our own greeter. One morning as other students boarded the bus, a first-grader said, “Welcome to Walnut Grove Usafurtee.” “You-say-fur-tee?” I replied. “What’s a Usafurtee?”

“You know, like Alabama Usafurtee.”

“You mean Alabama University?” I said.

“Yes, Walnut Grove Usafurtee,” he repeated.

We have always strived to increase our academic excellence at Walnut Grove, and apparently we had moved up several levels. I understood all we needed to make it official was a contract for collegiate wear.

Rumor had it there was already an NCAA investigation into our athletic program for possible recruiting violations involving a new bicycle and preferential seating on the school bus.

Random Thoughts—World Peace

We live in an amazing world!

Though I do not consider myself old, I have had the privilege of being around for a number of years. In those years I have seen many amazing changes.

I have seen the day when the best thing you could purchase for your child’s education was a set of encyclopedias that took up a substantial amount of space. Now we just Google it. I have watched all three channels on a black and white TV while serving as my father’s remote control. Now you can miss an hour-long program that you wanted to watch on your 72-inch high-definition television, because it took so long to go through the 900 available channels.