Bango!

It was a curving section of the county road with a posted speed of 35 mph. Farms and homesteads lined both sides of the road as did overhanging maple and alder trees.

“Slow up in the curve. Almost to . . . yep, there he is.”

Up ahead, about a hundred yards away stood a short, fourth grade boy. He wore a cream-colored tee shirt with a frontal graphic of Spider-Man swinging between skyscrapers. He also was prepared for the sunny day by wearing black cutoffs, white gym socks which almost came to his knees, and his running shoes.

His name is Carl.  Carl the redheaded boy with horned rim glasses. He is unique.

It was summertime and I was using my 44 passenger Bluebird bus to pick up county kids for vacation Bible school. I would make it available to any churches that didn’t have a bus of their own.

Carl and his family had just returned from summer vacation.

He was waving his right arm now, as he always did. Vertically up and down, like I didn’t see him. It was also his way of letting me know when to stop. It cracked me up. This is a special little guy.

As I slowly rolled the bus up to him, he waited until he was dead center in the door. Then he quickly swiped his hand horizontally to let me know I was lined up with him. I could see him some day directing the parking of jets or signaling in a landing a helicopter.

I parted the doors, and he climbed the steps, taking the seat behind me.

“Morning Carl. How was your vacation?”

“You do not want to get to the airport less than an hour before your departure or Bango, they’ll leave you!”

“Did you miss your flight?”

“We almost did. I put knives in my brother’s backpack.”

“What?”

“Mom got mad about that. I got mad at her too. She lost all our water bottles again. She leaves them in her backpack, and you know what happens? Bango, they make us throw them in the garbage.”

“You can’t have tools either.”

“Why did you take tools?”

“You never know what you are going to need on a trip. The airport security thinks they are weapons.”

“Did they tell you what you can’t bring?”

“Well, I can’t bring a hammer again!”

He was standing up looking at himself in my rearview mirror.

“I’ve got a bald spot!”

I looked at him standing over my shoulder in the mirror.

“Where?”

He lifted his bangs. Sure enough, he had a large area of missing hair running along the side of his head.

“What happened to your hair?”

“I pulled it out.”

“What?”

“Stop the bus! Stop the bus Mr. Mitchell!”

“Why, Carl?”

“There is something wrong with one of the tires. I can feel it.”

“There isn’t anything wrong with the tires. I checked them this morning.”

“What do you like better, Bluebird or Thomas, with a Chevy, Ford, or International engine?”

“I’ve only driven my Chevy Bluebird.”

“Thomas with Ford engines are better.”

“How do you know Carl?”

“I do research.”

“You’re in fourth grade!”

He opened his backpack and brought out a notepad, pencil, and a stopwatch. He then made notations on the pad.

“Okay. If you die while you are driving, the first thing I do is pull that yellow button and put the transmission in N. Then I get all the kids off the bus and move them 100 feet away from the bus. If you are dead already, should I just leave you on the bus?”

“I’m not planning on dying, Carl.”

“Okay, but who is going to call the ambulance?”

“How about we let a fifth grader do it?”

He reached inside his backpack again and pulled out a large set of keys.

“Have you ever seen this many keys on a ring before?”

“Where did you get those?”

“They’re mom’s. She sets them down and you know what happens? Bango, they’re lost! So, I decided to keep track of them for her. Besides, she wanted to take me to the dentist this afternoon.”

“I’m going to have to call your mom and tell her you’ve got her keys.”

“Go ahead, she thinks I’m still in bed.”

“Carl, your mom doesn’t know that you got on the bus today?”

“She won’t miss me; she’ll be looking for her keys.”

“Why do you always sit behind me? There are plenty of seats back with the other kids.”

“The other kids don’t like me.”

“Why?”

“They don’t follow the rules. Just like my big brother. He drives his quad on the road. I told him, ‘You can’t drive your quad on the road.’ He didn’t listen to me, so I called the sheriff.”

“What did your family think of that?”

Dad came into the living room with the deputy and told my brother not to ride on the road. When he left, Bango! I got grounded.

My brother has a baseball game tonight. I’m working the security. Nobody who doesn’t belong is getting out on that field.”

“You’re a fourth grader. Did anyone ask you to do security?”

“They don’t need to ask me. People need to follow the rules.”

We finished our pickups and I drove to the church.

“Let’s go inside and call your mom. I’m sure she will be glad to know where you and her keys are.”

We walked together to the church office. Not once did he stop his observations and chatter. I found the parent phone list and called his mother.

From somewhere deep in his backpack, a phone rang.

“Carl, you didn’t!”

“Well, someone has to keep track of it for her. Mom loses it every day. She sets it down somewhere and, Bango, we spend two hours looking for it.”

“Carl, I have the feeling that you are going to be hearing the word, Bango, quite a bit tonight.”

If it were possible for me to write down or record all the comments Carl has made while standing behind me on the bus, I could write quite a book. He is not a bad boy; he is unique, and he keeps me laughing. The closest I have seen to his personality is the boy who plays the lead on the television show, Young Sheldon.

Someday, I’m sure that he will be an actuary, statistician, law man, or a mad scientist but right now he is waiting for his dad and nosing around the outside of my Bluebird. I expect that any minute, Bango, he’s going to find another safety issue with it.

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