My first time

Jesus… Not that time! My kids get on this blog once in a while!

There are episodes in your life that mark a before and after the time they happen. I talk about most of them openly – having kids, getting married, getting divorced, getting into those size 2 Old Navy white summer shorts. Others are just mine to enjoy. Today’s story belongs to the first category, so here we go.

This morning, for the first time in the 39 years I’ve lived in this world, I rode in a genuine yellow American school bus (a long one). My son insisted on having me as a volunteer for his field trip to the Boise Arts Museum, so I agreed. My friends and I grew up watching American movies, and by the time I moved to Boise yellow buses, fenced yards and going to the prom were as familiar to me as tortilla de patata.

So it didn’t dawn on me until this morning while we waited for the bus outside Whitney Elementary that I’d never actually been inside one of the most iconic vehicles in American history. I don’t understand why I’d feel a rush of anticipation for something so ordinary, but I did, like somehow I belong here a little bit more after the ride.

Now, if only somebody would ask me out on a date and took me to prom.

If you have time – hell, even if you don’t have time – you need to see the entire monologue.

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