The bus was a hit with my small kid. As if the bus were a rocket about to take off, he would race to the stop every morning, his shoes unfastened, his backpack bouncing.
However, things had changed for a while. He had stopped talking. His once vibrant designs have turned drab and dejected. He seemed to shield himself by holding my hand a little longer each morning.😱
Until that day, I had no idea why. I watched him board the bus on the sidewalk, trying to be brave and avoiding the kids who had been making fun of him for weeks because he was too little, too quiet, or too odd.
He always arrived home in the evening with a stooped posture and a detached gaze. I heard snippets of what he was going through, statements interspersed with giggles, and hurtful comments that made my heart stop: “You’re weird,” “No one loves you here,” and “Go away.” Long after he had gone to sleep, those words continued to replay in my mind.
I made the decision that enough was enough one morning. I took his hand and guided him to the bus. When we got to the driver…
Breathless, I froze as I ascended the bus’s steps. I was taken aback by what I witnessed. 😱
That morning, it became evident why my son actually loathed the bus. The bus’ interior had been turned into a terrible place by the new driver, who wasn’t only strict. 😱
He had scattered odd items and unsettling pictures everywhere, including frightful masks, piercing-eyed dolls, and other enigmatic trinkets. The purpose of these items was to frighten the kids and make them remain sitting and motionless, not to decorate.
“If you scream or get up, these objects will catch you,” he would say every day, repeating what would happen if they made noise or disobeyed.
The children found the bus to be a true nightmare as a result of these threats and the objects’ menacing looks. My sensitive and creative son was unable to unwind or enjoy the ride since he perceived these warnings as genuine and felt frightened all the time.
It was a culture of organized dread rather than just basic discipline. The children were gripped by their fear of what might occur and sat motionless, muttering to one another.
His terror every morning, his quiet, and his refusal to board the bus were all explained by this stifling environment. My son was disturbed not only by his classmates’ dread but also by the terror inflicted by an adult who was meant to protect them.
