How to Unwrap a Bus Ride

I had no idea that moving to Germany would necessitate so many blog posts about bus rides. But, alas, it has become a major part of this adventure. So I dare not leave you hanging . . .

It’s more crowded this week, with the snow and all. People don’t walk like they do when it’s nice out. Most of us take the bus.

We ride together every morning. The 7:30am 303ers. We should all get a badge at the end of the school year declaring our victory. None of us enjoys the ride. Of that I am sure. No one.

Because it’s jam-packed full of kids and men and women and teens. It’s a city bus, but school kids use it like the yellow ones in the USA. Kids with bulging backpacks who stand right in front of the middle door so they get first dibs at the exit. Even though they won’t step out for three more stops. Men and women going to work and the train station and who-knows-where. Pre-adolescent boys who ram right through the crowd to secure their favorite place. Middle school girls who look tough and giggle loudly.

And then there are the three of us. My daughters and me.

We’re the ones who try to look like we understand everything that happens. Really, we don’t. We sometimes smile at our fellow passengers or nod. Every once in a while, you might hear us say an English word or two.

Seven thirty comes, and we ride down the street connecting the main bus station with the rest of the world. We shift in our shoes and hold on for dear life. Even though we’re packed so tight nobody would fall if they lost their balance. Every morning we do it.

We started recognizing each other after several months of the routine.

The nice older lady who smiles when one of my kids sits next to her. The beautiful young blond who always has a seat and never even looks like she wants to complain. Even though every day she has to fight her way off the bus through the gaggle of aforementioned boys in the middle.

The generous woman always eager to give up her seat if an elderly person steps on.

The brave lady who holds the rail in the middle. Every day she chooses to stand with the loud, obnoxious boys. She’s tough. I admire her.

That lady smiles at me today when I look her way. I smile, too. Not because I’m happy to be on this bus. I smile because I feel like I know her. I feel like the knowing we share gives us an unexpected comeraderie I never noticed. And I realize for the first time the gift of the people with whom I ride this bus.

Each weekday for the past three months, I have done fifteen minutes of life with them. I realize it as we ride today. We share life together, these people and me. It hits me that they know the same loud and annoying of this ride that I do. We might never share words, but we share moments of life unlike those who drive their morning routines alone.

The girls and I find our way to the doors and step onto the sidewalk. Another successful morning commute. We talk about the boy who was screaming in the middle. Discuss the day’s crowd and the other people on board. And as we walk to our goodbyes, I remember my comrades. And I realize the gift I have just unwrapped.

The gift I found right in the middle of the 7:30 303.

**I’m so excited to be linking up today with my friend Emily today at Chatting at the Sky. Where a bunch of people are unwrapping gifts in the ordinary life. You should check it out.