One More Ride

When I look at this photograph, I’m amazed at how quickly a lifetime can pass.

This photograph was taken in 1968. I was four years old.

My mother had taken one of my dad’s old bus driver uniforms and tailored it to fit me.

I loved riding the bus with him.

I can still remember sitting just behind my father’s seat, listening to him greet passengers, collect tickets, and announce the upcoming stops along his route. I remember the smell of diesel fuel, the cool air conditioning on those hot Texas summer days, and the faint scent of pipe tobacco that always seemed to linger.

If I could go back for just one ordinary afternoon, I think I’d like to ride the bus with him one more time.

I’d tell him about my family he never got to meet, some of the places life had taken me, and, of course, that I followed his advice not to try to make a living as a musician!

Somewhere during that ride, I think he’d smile.

And that would be enough.