The Wheels on the Bus Go Round and Round...

There are few experiences that engender more learning possibilities than riding public transportation. The girls and I have been riding the city bus, here in Las Vegas called the Citizens Area Transit (CAT) system, for about eight years. In that time we have had the opportunity to meet more people from more places, for more reasons, sitting in the next seat or hanging one strap over during rush hour, than most cities of comparable size can claim.

For the most part, the lessons have been pleasant, even constructive, but with a small effort the most unpleasant experiences still have created opportunities for familial edification.

One early such happening concerned a man we dubbed Mr. Effity Eff, for his profound, continual and therefore repetitive use of certain four-, six-, and twelve-letter anglo-saxonisms that one would be unlikely to find in, say, your average church bulletin, and he often shared his fondness for scatology with his fellow bus passengers, without regard to gender, age, sex or social status; a true equal opportunity annoyance.

His proclivity in this area made for some interesting (read: nerve-wracking) explanations at our home, usually consisting of two parts: 1 – What a word (or group of words) actually meant, and 2 – Why it was not a good idea to use such words in your next school book report or letter to great-aunt Eunice.

My point was that the English language is the richest and most prolific in the world and that the core character of a person could be surmised from the way that person expresses him/herself. I took much satisfaction from the fact that my point of view seemed to make sense to the girls. I also took much relief that I might not have to revisit the subject again. Silly man that I was…

Some time later, Mr. Effity Eff, drunk and loud, was finally and effectively shamed into silence one day by a tiny, soft-spoken black woman whom we had never seen before. She planted her small frame in the seat next to him and in a calm voice accompanied by many gestures, transformed that large terror of a man into a “yes ma’am” and “no ma’am” machine.

As we got off of the bus at our stop, Samantha, then 12, put into perspective the outlook for any parent attempting to keep our children on a verbal high road in today's world when she observed to me: “At least someone got the f*%&@r to shut up.”