8 / matters magazine / school 2017 READ & RECYLE Featuring Local People, Places and Things that Matter Since 1990 Please address all correspondence to: Visual Impact Advertising, Inc.© P.O Box 198 Maplewood, NJ 07040 973-763-4900 mattersmagazine.com MattersHello@gmail.com MattersMagazine©isownedandpublished by Visual Impact Advertising, Inc., P.O. Box 198 Maplewood, NJ 07040. Published monthly, Matters Magazine is free, with editions directly mailed 7 times a year to the residents of Maplewood and South Orange and distributed to businesses and surrounding communities totaling 17,000. Subscriptions are available to non-residents for $30 (U.S.) $40 (Foreign) annually. No part of the publication may be reprinted or otherwise reproduced without written per- missionfromVisualImpactAdvertising,Inc. CIRCULATION VERIFIED BY U.S. POSTAL RECEIPTS. PUBLISHER & EDITOR-IN-CHIEF Ellen Donker ASSOCIATE EDITOR Joanne DiPasquale INTERN Lucy Leonard ADVERTISING CONSULTANTS Rene Conlon H. Leslie Gilman Adrienne MacWhannell DESIGN CONSULTANT Joy Markel COPY EDITORS Nick Humez Tia Swanson CONTRIBUTORS Karen Duncan, Joanne Fisher, Malia Rulon Herman, Lucy Leonard, Jamie Meier, Ben Salmon FOUNDER & CREATIVE CONTRIBUTOR Karen Duncan Matters heart of the matter A Bus Ride to Nowhere How history repeated itself on the first day of school BY ELLEN DONKER W e all have stories about our- selves that we collect over time – stories that often de- fine us as we turn them into our living narrative. Some- times they prove our mettle, giving voice to what we’ve been through; other times they lend us bragging rights. Mention the start of school and I’ll tell you all about my first day of kindergarten. I still remember that it all started out fine, with my mother driving me to school for the afternoon session, carefully explaining how I’d meet up with my carpool at the end of the day. It seemed simple enough but when the bell rang, my teacher, Miss Szemansco, insisted that I ride the bus. De- spite my protestations, she made me get on the bus, where I forlornly took my spot in a double seat. As the bus turned from one unfamiliar street to another and slowly emptied out I thought I’d never see home again. I remember using the red satin ribbons from my long braids to wipe away my tears. When the bus eventually circled back to school, there waiting for me were my mother and Miss Szemansco. My teacher apologized profusely, sorry that she hadn’t listened to me. She promised never to put me on the bus again and my year of kindergar- ten proceeded uneventfully. That event must have made a big impact on me because I related it to many people, including my own children. When the first day of kindergarten came for Madeline, Timothy and Christian, I thought nothing of it because unlike me, they were supposed to ride the bus. And they did, taking the kindergarten bus to Marshall School for the afternoon ses- sion. When it was time to pick them up, my husband, Rob, and I returned to the bus stop, eagerly scanning the faces as the kids filed out. When the last child jumped off, we boarded the bus, incredulous that none of our children were on it. The driver knew nothing. It would be another 40 minutes before we found our children. After panicked phone calls, even an unfruitful trip to the school, the kids finally appeared as I was pulling into the driveway. They were getting off the bus – three sob- bing children who, like me as a child, thought they would never see home again. During their journey on the wrong bus, Timothy had recognized the Maplewood Library and directed the driver from there. Those many trips to the chil- dren’s room paid off! (I later found out that they were put on the wrong bus because none of the teachers was given assignments for the kindergartners and had to guess.) Now safely home, all three kids cried their eyes out as they each related their version of the traumatic episode. It was clear to Rob and me that we had to figure out how to salvage the day. Where else to go but Scrivener’s (now She- nanigans) to buy a consolation toy for each child and then assure them that they’d get home by bus just fine the next day. It wasn’t easy, but they summoned up every ounce of bravery and boarded the bus the following morning. And then, just as with my kindergarten experience, the year pro- ceeded uneventfully. Our children are now high school seniors with their own story to tell when the conversation turns to the first day of school. And although I’m not superstitious, I’d cau- tion them to recount it to their future children only when the youngest one has journeyed home from kindergarten safe and sound. n Christian, Timothy and Madeline on their first day of kindergarten