School Bus Stop: A Moment

The school bus stops, northbound. A dozen cars behind, a dozen more (including me) southbound. All stop.

Lights flash, stop sign out, door opens.

The bus driver begins applauding.

Just clapping his hands, looking out of the door with a bit of a smile.

In a rush, the kid dashes from the porch, hood up, backpack bouncing. Practically flying down the driveway, eyes up, smile radiant.

The kid leaps, plunges, soars up the steps.

The bus driver holds up one hand, the small grin now a full out, mouth wide open, smile of pure excitement and joy.

The kid smacks his hand with the most epic of high fives, turns, and walks down the aisle to find a seat.

The driver, smile lingering, eyes in the mirror.

Door closes, stop sign down, lights off.

The bus pulls away, the cars begin to move again.

A minute, maybe a minute and half total. Nothing to it, really. And yet what an amazing impact it will have on the rest of the day.

For that kid, for that bus driver. And for me.