The Driver on Bus Number 2

Joni Lynn Schwartz
Apr 17
4 min read

I was a shy little girl with curly blonde hair, stepping onto the big, scary bus for my first day of school, unsure of where to sit or what to expect. And then there was the driver on bus number 2, who welcomed me as I climbed those tall steps, just like he had welcomed my dad years before from the same farm. The bus didn’t feel quite so big or so intimidating, because he had a way of making you feel seen right away.

My sisters and I were laughing the other day about who his favorite was, going back and forth, until my mom settled it by saying she thought my dad was always his favorite. She might not be wrong. It says a lot about the kind of person he was.

Our bus rides were long since we were the last stop, which meant nearly an hour each afternoon riding around before finally pulling up to our driveway. But I don’t remember those rides feeling long or boring. I remember them being full of laughter, conversations, and friendships that were built somewhere between those worn bus seats and bumpy gravel roads. The driver on bus number 2 created a community without ever making a big deal about it.

Every Christmas, he bought candy for all the kids on the bus, but what stands out even more is that he would stop at a house along the route where an older man lived alone, and we would put candy in his mailbox. Looking back now, I realize he was quietly teaching us how to notice people, how to include others, and how to give without needing recognition. The older kids would collect money for a gift card, and instead of rushing off the bus when we got to school, we would all stay seated for a few extra minutes to give it to him and say thank you for all he had done. He was more than just a ride to and from school; he had made a place where we belonged.

We had fun on that bus, but he also expected us to behave. There were more than a few times he pulled the bus over to have a serious talk, usually with one of the rowdier boys who had pushed things too far. You made room for each other on those seats, and while there might have been a little harmless roughhousing here and there, there was always an understanding that respect mattered and you listened up when he used his loud bus driver voice.

The best day of the year was always the last day of school. Before we got off the bus that morning, he would give us a very clear reminder that there were to be no water fights on the bus that afternoon. And every year, we ignored that warning. We would sneak water bottles and balloons into our backpacks, and as soon as the bus pulled away from the school, the water wars would begin. To this day, I have no idea how we managed to get that much water on a bus, but I do know that riding home for an hour in soaking wet clothes felt completely worth it.

He knew it was coming. The driver on bus number 2 always knew. And even though he had just told us not to do it, he still showed up and stayed to clean up the mess long after we had all been dropped off at home.

He retired during my sister’s senior year, and she was the one who brought his final thank you card to him on bus number 2. It feels fitting that one of us was there for the closing out that chapter.

It has been several years since we rode that bus, but we would still see him around the community, and he always took the time to stop and talk. He didn’t just see us as kids who rode his route; he continued to see us as we grew into adulthood.

There are people God places in your life for a season, and sometimes you don’t fully understand the impact they have until much later. For me, one of those people was a bus driver who showed up every day, who created a space where kids felt safe and included, who held expectations while still allowing room for fun, and who modeled what it looks like to care for people.

“Whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.” — Matthew 25:40

I’m not sure the driver on bus number 2 ever really knew how much he impacted the kids who rode his bus, but I know we felt it then and we carry it with us now.

This week, he went to heaven. The man who made a shy little girl feel seen on her first day of school probably never realized how many kids he did that for, but he did. And years later, that’s still what I remember most.