It’s hard to see a yellow school bus and not think about all the hours of my childhood spent sitting on one of those hard seats with a stiff back. I hope the modern versions have a little more comfort than the utilitarian transportation I had to ride uphill both ways.

From the outside, they don’t look much different now that the calendar has turned to September and the wheels on the buses are going around and around every day.

As one of the last stops on the bus route, I don’t remember much about the ride to school. Being among the last to be picked up made the trip pretty short, and I wasn’t fully awake at that hour despite the sleep advantage I had over the kids who got on earlier.

This meant the reverse was true in the afternoon. I was the last or next to last one off the bus, unless I decided to take a shortcut that would allow me to exit first. The only catch was it meant a half-mile walk home. Faster than riding but more effort, too.

Walking meant getting home about 45 minutes earlier than riding the full route. There were multiple considerations that factored into the decision like weather, who was on the bus that day, whether any neighbors were also walking, if I had a full backpack or happened to be toting a saxophone (better than carrying a tuba, not as good as a clarinet).

What was at home also mattered. Chores and homework weren’t a reason to get home earlier than necessary. Video games, TV and snacks were.

Hot weather made the decision easy. It was far better to sweat while walking than get stuck to the vinyl seat of the bus. You’d also have a fine coating of gravel dust on everything because the windows were open as the bus traversed the backroads. Wet or cold weather also made the decision simple as long as the heater on the bus was working.

Riding the bus also extended the day’s education. Since there was a mix of younger and older students, there was a significant exchange of knowledge in the form of innuendo, double entendre and the art of swearing. Thankfully this was way before everyone carried a shiny rectangle capable of broadcasting these tutoring sessions to the world. What happened on the bus stayed on the bus. Mostly.

My days riding the bus to and from school ended about the time my older brother received his driver’s license. There were occasional schedule conflicts that necessitated catching the bus, but for the most part my mass transit interactions were limited to sports and field trips.

Walk or ride? It sounds like a simple decision today, but I was fortunate it was one of the few I had to make each day. It’s prepared me well for adult life, where there’s a steady stream of banal questions like, “What’s for dinner?” or “What are our plans for this weekend?” Turns out, you don’t really stop riding the bus, you just become the driver.