They Fired Me After 40 Years Of Driving School Bus Just Because Some Parents Saw Me at a Motorcycle Rally

“Sorry about that,” I said, unsure what else to offer.

“What exactly happened? Everyone’s talking, but nobody seems to know the truth.”

I explained about Mrs. Westfield, the rally, the petition. Cindy’s response was immediate and profane.

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. You’ve been driving my kids since kindergarten. What does your motorcycle have to do with anything?”

By afternoon, my phone wouldn’t stop ringing. Parents I’d known for years, calling to express outrage. Even a few school board members, speaking “unofficially,” of course.

Then came the knock on my door. I opened it to find Emma Castillo, a quiet girl who’d ridden my bus until she graduated three years earlier. Now she was a journalism student at the community college, notebook in hand.

“Mr. Ray,” she said, “I’m writing a story for the college paper about what happened. Would you talk to me?”

I hesitated, but something in her earnest expression made me step aside to let her in.

For two hours, Emma asked questions no one had bothered to ask before. About my four decades of service. About the motorcycle club. About the charity rides and veteran support.

“Mrs. Westfield said your vest had threatening symbols,” Emma said. “Could I see it?”

I brought out my club vest. Showed her each patch and explained its meaning. The American flag. The POW/MIA emblem for my brother. The patch commemorating Rolling Thunder rides for veterans.

“This one?” she asked, pointing to a patch that read “2 Million Miles – No Cage.”

“That’s for riding two million miles without an accident,” I explained. “‘No cage’ means not in a car. Bikers call cars ‘cages.’”

Emma wrote everything down, her face growing increasingly troubled.

“Mr. Ray, did anyone from the school board or administration ask you to explain these patches?”

“No,” I said. “They just… reacted.”

She nodded, making one last note before closing her notebook. “One more question. The kids from your bus route are organizing something for you. Did you know that?”

I felt a tightness in my throat. “No. What kind of something?”

Emma smiled. “I think you’ll find out soon enough.”

Continue READING