It has always amazed me how clearly my 4-year-old speaks when he needs to be heard. This same kid sometimes sounds like he swallowed a handful of sand and marbles before speaking, but today, his message is loud and clear.

I'd like to say that his fear of mass transportation like the bus is something new or unique to just him, but then I'd be lying. You see, I also suffer from "busaphobia," a little-known disease that afflicts all children going to school for the first time.

With all due respect to the hard-working men and women who drive the big yellow buses each school year, I've never been really excited to get on the darn thing after my first experience thirty years ago.

As a first grader waiting at the bus stop on my first day of school, everything was going great. Nobody wanted to get in a fight, my lunch money was still in my pocket and most importantly, no girls had tried to kiss me.

The bus wheeled around the corner of my not-so-unique subdivision and I said my good-byes to my mom, eager to become the next great academic in my family.

When the doors opened, I was greeted by a mammoth-sized man with a beard that was kept together by a rubber band. His grin exposed six teeth if I remember correctly, but his voice was soft as he greeted me, so my fears of taking the bus to nowheresville quickly subsided. I'd later learned that the kids called him "Jabba" after Jabba the Hut from Star Wars.

Naturally, the bus was packed tighter than my Evel Knievel lunchbox (which also held my own personal thermos of Kool-Aid, by the way), so I was having trouble finding a seat.

Sweat started to form on my brow and I could feel chills beginning to climb up my newly clean-cut neck. Where was I going to sit?

With exactly half a millisecond warning, Jabba pressed the accelerator the way Bo and Luke Duke used to when being chased by Boss Hogg, and I lurched forward about six feet. This sent my Evel Knievel lunchbox flying, just as if it was the real daredevil himself trying to jump the Grand Canyon.

After gaining control of my body, I was able to stand up. As I did, Jabba slammed on the brakes, causing me to lunge forward at about Mach 3.

As I fell forward, everyone on the bus turned to watch the fiasco unfolding in front of them. One of the spectators was the neighborhood beauty, Stacy Orth, who was one of the older girls and had already gone up to the sixth grade. From what I understand, most of the sixth grade boys were infatuated with her. She was a legend.

Well, yours truly managed to fall right into the legend's lap, where she promptly put her arms around me and planted a kiss on my cheek. Remember folks, this is during a time in my life when girls had cooties and were definitely NOT cool.

"I like your lunchbox cutie," she crooned into my bright red ear.

I don't remember anything else about the bus ride other than the fact that it was my last. Not just for that year, but forever. I promptly started walking to school through rain, wind, sleet and snow.

So rather than fight my son or try to cure him from his "busaphobia," I think I'll enjoy the next 14 years together in the car. I know that they meant everything to me as a kid.