Missing the Bus

There was something about this morning’s rush hour that pushed my last nerve. Maybe it was the traffic. Maybe it was the fog. But I felt a huge sense of relief as I approached the downtown exit where I normally get off for work. I felt like a marathon runner approaching the finish line. Soon the medal would be in my hand.

And then the phone rang.

It was my wife. My son’s bus hadn’t come. It wasn’t that he had missed it. The bus just didn’t show up. She couldn’t get away from work. Tag, I was it. I got off the exit and turned around and headed back north.

My medal was snatched from my grasp. And I was pissed.

I started to feel a wave of self-pity wash over me. It wasn’t fair. Traffic sucked. I didn’t have time. The one morning I didn’t hang around the house… Wah. Wah. Wah. And then I thought about that time dad picked me up after middle school.

I had stayed after school to play intramurals. My dad, who owned a local gas station, was supposed to pick me up at 4 p.m.. I sat there, outside of the gym, waiting. And waiting. And waiting. It was 4:30. No dad. He was late. I was mad. How dare he? How inconsiderate. How could he forget his son?

Then my sister roared up. She threw open the passenger door and yelled, “Get in!”

I soon found out why my dad was late.

He was driving my other sister’s Jaguar. The car had stalled in front of our house and the electric fuel pump poured gas on the engine. It ignited and blew the hood off the car. My dad was inside a burning car and barely escaped with his life. (the fire was extinguished inches from two 26-gallon gas tanks. The explosion would have blown every window out in the neighborhood.)

I thought about that story as I drove and remembered my dad never complaining about picking me up. Never. Not even when he almost was burned to death doing it. I felt my pity party melt like ice in August. I took a breath and told my son that while I wish the bus would have come, I did enjoy the time we had together.

My dad’s memory was a balm for my bad attitude.

As I got to work (two hours later), I got a text from my son. He has testing today and made it to homeroom right as the roll was being called. He was grateful and gave me a very robust thank you.

You know, my work will get done. My time with my son this morning was much, much more important. And on the bright side, at least my car didn’t burn to the ground.