Every morning, six-year-old Calvin raced to the bus, waving his toy dinosaur. But over time, his joy faded. Smiles disappeared, stomachaches began, and his colorful drawings turned into scribbles or blank pages.
I assumed it was a phase—until one morning, I walked him to the bus and heard a cruel comment from a kid in the back. Calvin pulled his hat low and wiped away a tear. The bus didn’t move. Miss Carmen, the driver, reached out her hand. Calvin took it and clung to her.
That afternoon, she stepped off the bus and told the parents, “Some of your kids are hurting others. It’s not teasing—it’s bullying. And we fix it. Today.”
That night, Calvin opened up. The school stepped in. Apologies were made. Calvin sat in the front—Miss Carmen’s “VIP section.”
Weeks later, he drew again. A rocket bus. A smiling boy. And a driver.
“Wanna sit with me?” he asked a nervous new kid.