Good Example Of Of All The Things That I Remember Essay
I caught the bus by myself when I was just three years old. It’s the most vivid memory of that age that I can recall. It’s a story that is told so often that it’s become more sad than funny. Don’t get me wrong; it’s a silly tale. Every time the story is told, everyone laughs. Except the older I get, the more I feel that it is more a tale of neglect than of amusement. As I get older I begin to understand the kind of person my mother is and was. Most parents are supposed to be protective. Maybe they are born that way. Maybe it is something that grows in them when they have children. However, there is always that one neglectful moment that a person has that offers a glimpse to the type of parent they will become.
My mother was young when she had me. I believe that at age twenty-five, she wasn’t mentally prepared for children. I can believe that she wasn’t mature enough to handle the type of child that I was. At three I was precocious and curious. I was a ball of positive energy. I was forever laughing, forever running, and into everything. My mother did not have a car, so if we weren’t taking the bus, then we were walking. And apparently as a part of this deal I was considered mature enough to walk to daycare by myself.
I don’t recall the exact details of how this arrangement was supposed to work. As my mother tells it, I would be sent off to walk to the daycare facility that was located around the corner from where we lived. She in turn would run back to the apartment and she would watch me from the window. On this particular day, I clearly recall wanting to go to my mothers job to see her. However, having just left her, this thought process makes absolutely no sense. But, the argument can be made that there is no three year old on the planet with that much common sense.
I cannot recall whether the day was hot or cold. The sun was shining. Maybe the birds were singing too. I left our apartment building and walked toward the bus stop. I waited with all of the big people to cross the street. When the bus stopped in front of the crowd, I walked onto the bus. Hidden in the crowd, no one questioned my presence. The goal was clear; get to my mother’s job. The bus may have been crowded. There were adults everywhere, but none of them were paying attention to me.
I never made it to my mother’s place of business that day. I never got off the bus. I remember not being able to remember which stop to get off of. Everything looked familiar and nothing looked right. All I really remember is that I rode the bus to the end of the line. I was the only one left on the bus before the bus driver even noticed me.
Later, I would be told that my grandmother was the first one they called and the first to arrive at the police station. I also learned that my grandmother was the first one my mother called, instead of calling the police. I remember this day. I recall that even though I was alone, I was never scared. I remember all of these things, but I don’t understand the reasoning behind my trip. If I wanted to see my mother, all I had to do was turn around and go back the way I came. Instead, I took an entirely different direction. But then, what kind of parent doesn’t walk their three year old to daycare?
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