Lessons from a Bus Driver’s Seat

The engine would rumble before the sun ever thought about rising. At sixteen years old, I would step up into the driver’s seat of Bus 217, a yellow giant that looked far bigger than any teenager should be trusted with. The keys felt heavy in my hand, responsibility always does.

Yesterday morning, as I drove Gabby and Samuel to Caldwell Academy, I told them that “back in the day” their grandfather drove a school bus for Pine Forest High School. They looked at me like I had just said I once flew a rocket ship. And honestly, in 1969, it felt a little like that.

I parked that behemoth in our front yard, Bus 217 sitting proudly beside our driveway like it belonged to the family. At first, my motivation was simple: If I have to get up early for school, I might as well get paid for it. But somewhere between the early mornings, the fogged-up windshields, and navigating that long yellow monster through traffic, something deeper was forming.

I wasn’t just driving a bus. I was learning how to carry people.

Recently, I watched a story about Mike Mason and his experience choosing to drive a school bus after retirement as fourth in command of the FBI, not because he had to, but because he wanted to give back. His perspective stopped me. What I once saw as a teenage job, he sees as a calling. And that made me reflect.

Maybe the parallel isn’t about buses at all. Maybe it’s about stewardship

Three Lessons from Behind the Wheel

Responsibility Changes You Before You Realize It
At sixteen, I thought I was just steering metal and rubber. But what I was really steering was trust. Parents entrusted me with their children. Administrators trusted me with their equipment. And those students trusted me to get them there safely.

When someone hands you the keys—literally or figuratively, you grow up quickly. Leadership often begins long before we call it leadership.

Gratitude Grows in the Ordinary
There is nothing glamorous about a school bus at 6:30 a.m.  But there is something grounding about it. Watching the sun rise over quiet roads. Hearing the chatter of students finding their seats. Learning how to manage personalities before first period even began.

The ordinary has a way of shaping extraordinary character.  Mike Mason seems to understand that. What others might see as routine, he sees as contribution. That shift in perspective turns a job into a gift.

The Vehicle Isn’t the Point, The People Are
I remember worrying about turns, making sure the rear wheels cleared curbs, learning the length and weight of that machine. But over time, I realized the real cargo wasn’t steel and seats, it was potential.  

Every morning, I carried future teachers, business owners, parents, leaders. At sixteen, I couldn’t have articulated that. But now, looking back, I see it clearly. When we serve others even in small, unnoticed roles we are moving lives forward.

An Unexpected Gift
Driving Gabby and Samuel yesterday wasn’t just a quick trip to school. It was a reminder.  Life has a way of circling back.  The same roads feel shorter now. The responsibilities are different. But the lesson remains: when you accept the role of steward—even temporarily—you make a difference far beyond the task itself.

Bus 217 taught me gratitude. It taught me appreciation.  It taught me that responsibility is not a burden, it is a privilege. And sometimes, the most unlikely jobs become the training ground for your life’s work.

Closing Reflection

We don’t always recognize the significance of the roles we play while we’re playing them. A school bus driver. A volunteer. A mentor. A friend.  But every time we take the wheel of a bus, a business, a family, a calling we're entrusted with lives, influence, and legacy.

What if the smallest assignment you’ve been given is actually preparing you for your greatest impact?