SUNSHINE SHUTTLE

The brown paper bag looked amazing. A huge, smiling yellow sun covered nearly the entire top of the brown bag, with the colorful words “you are sun-sational” splashed beneath it. Below that was printed, “Thanks for all that you have done this year!” Tufts of bright lemon paper looked like rays of the sun popping out of the top.

I sipped my chilled glass of ice-cold lemonade, which I had made for myself at the cool lemonade stand across the counter in the lounge, adding some fresh berries and a few drops of blackberry syrup. I was having quite the afternoon.

I retired from full-time teaching three years ago. I never thought I would step back into the classroom again, but teaching only two classes this year is kind of nice. I have plenty of free time to walk the dog more often, play video games for hours on end, and catch up on years of lost sleep.

So when Teacher Appreciation Week rolled around this year, I felt a little guilty about taking part in the celebration. Some days, I am only here for one government class while other teachers are navigating a full load of classes each day. That lemonade sure tasted good, though.

I looked at the bag. The principal stood at the table in the teacher’s lounge talking to me. I know Becky wanted me to open the bag, but I didn’t want to do it in front of her. I was content to sip on the lemonade and imagine what was inside the bag, so I told her I was going to open it at home. 

I lied. Once she left, I peeked inside. Maybe I didn’t want her to see me smile as I pulled out the surprises. 

I quickly unwrapped a Golden Grahams bar and savored tiny bites while checking out my stickers, Play-Doh, and a little rubber duck. But the "pièce de résistance" was something totally unexpected: a personalized laminated round-trip ticket on the Sunshine Shuttle to Dupes Scoops for an ice-cream treat. 

The next day, on an overcast, chilly afternoon, teachers, their eyes worn from the end of the year and their arms crossed, gathered in front of the school after the students had been dismissed.  Survivors of a full day of hyperactive teenagers who would rather be anywhere else began to smile when they saw the Sunshine Shuttle awaiting them.

I masked my own enthusiasm while holding my own golden ticket in front of me like Charlie Bucket. I half expected to see Willie Wonka driving the orange school bus, but Mr. Murphy was the perfect replacement.  Orange, yellow, and white streamers dropping down in front of the bus door invited weary souls to a magical place where today’s pressure was not to be found.

I feel kind of corny writing about all of this. But when I stepped on the Sunshine Shuttle to find it decorated with balloons, small suns, and even more streamers, I felt like a kid again. And let me tell you something, for a pushing 60, underdressed-for-the-weather man in shoes that had lost their arch support, to feel excitement about a trip to Dupes Scoops was something pretty special.

I remember a few specifics from the journey through downtown Wheeling, but for the most part, I just recall the feeling. Many of the teachers jabbered enthusiastically while I kept my arms atop the school bus seat in front of me, silently listening to some happy music playing faintly in the background as I looked out the window.

Throughout life, we often struggle with being “present” in moments. We may not always appreciate the simpler things, see the value in a kind gesture or smile, or acknowledge the road we have taken to arrive where we are. The significance of moments is often found in the time and places we take for granted.

The Sunshine Shuttle arrived quickly, hopefully avoiding the impending rain showers. Teachers are the universally certified guardians of orderly lines. With that in mind, we took our turns slowly disembarking the bus, stepping into the aisle without encroaching on the person’s personal space in front of us, and keeping our hands to ourselves.

Younger educators stood in line with the veterans. Math and science, English and social studies, art and video, staff and admins, all shivered in excitement as they waited their turn at the window. I tried to calculate the number of years of teaching experience gathered there on National Road, but I am a former English teacher who currently teaches a couple of government classes. I can add, but I struggle to keep a tally in my head, primarily because of my remarkable ability to become distracted whenever I am getting ice cream.

My turn came, and I stepped to the window, where I came face-to-face with Dupes himself, Luke Duplaga. Talk about moments. I had Luke in my class nearly a decade ago. Can that even be correct? I tried to do the math standing there, but…well, you know. Ice cream. 

Many teachers lose track of the years; some, like me, have occasionally forgotten names. We don’t forget the time spent together, even if we can’t remember the specific years and faces.  The great gift educators are afforded is the occasional opportunity to witness how a student’s story is progressing, a story far removed from the chapter in which you appeared.

It was good to see Luke. We talked a little, but Dupes still had a bunch of ice cream to hand out, and knowing Luke, I am sure he wanted to get the orders right. So I took my cappuccino crunch waffle cone, said “thank you,” then stepped to the side, the way all good teachers try to model for their students.

The Sunshine-Shuttle headed back to school, escaping the rain at just the right time. So many thoughts and emotions spun around in my head. Looking at everyone on the bus, having one last glance at the decorations and the shiny sun hanging beside me on the seat, I felt good, better than I have felt in a while. 

I was touched by the appreciation the school showed my colleagues and me. Yes, I loved the lemonade stand, the coffee cart, and, of course, the Sunshine Shuttle trip to Dupes Scoops. I will always be grateful for the week we had this year. 

Beyond the treats and gifts, the week gave me another treasure: a sense of gratitude for the career I chose, the never-ending flashbacks to previous classrooms and schools, the experiences of learning and teaching, and, of course, the enduring lifetime connections with students and colleagues.

I had my arms resting contentedly on top of the seat in front of me again on the ride home. I could still taste the cappuccino crunch ice cream at Dupes. “Becky? Can we do this every week?” 

Becky chuckled, “I wish we could.”

Living in the moment, appreciating one another, and being forever grateful.