Bus Ride

On a crowded commute this January night, my husband made his way to the back of his bus, hoping for a seat. Long day. Crazy economy. Monday. Enough said.

As he approached the rear of the cabin he noticed a guy. A big guy. A big guy who at just that moment happened to be picking on a group of four young (12 years old? 13?) boys, his other big-guy buddy looking on with amusement. See this pen, N____r? he mocked. Want me to mark you with it? I've marked him...and him. He jabs his marker in the direction of two of the kids whose young, dark skin shows the evidence of his domination. The smallest of the boys cowers, scrunching himself as deeply into his seat as he can. So? How 'bout I mark you, too?

The woman sitting nearby is shifting uncomfortably in her seat. She sees what's going on. Everyone around can see what's going on. What has been going on for one minute? Ten, maybe? Twenty?

Bob moves further along the aisle toward the interaction. He stops in front of the super-sized laborer guy. Twenty-something. Hands covered in grease and grime ~ evidence of his own long day, his own cares. Hey, Bob directs a quiet acknowledgment in the direction of the bully and glances at the buddy whose commentary has been littered with sexual references and lurid story telling.

Hey, is the response. You wanna' seat? Bully makes a show of scooching aside on the long back-of-the-bus bench.

Bob takes up his offer, insistently manouvering himself between Big Guy and the four children. Thanks.

Yeah. No problem.

So, you know you can't be doin' this, hey? Bob is not a confrontational man. He's starting to sweat. His face is turning red. He's going toe-to-toe with a dude that could...well...there are a lot of things that could go terribly, terribly wrong in the next few minutes.

Awww, we're just havin' a little fun.

No, Bob replies grimly. No. These guys are NOT having fun. What you're doing is harassment and it needs to stop. You can't go around picking on kids and you certainly can't be calling them by racial slurs.

Bob doesn't stop there. He calls them on the content of their conversation and challenges them to consider the public space that they are in. He calls them on everything.

For whatever reason, Bully and Buddy do not invite Bob to step off the bus in order to continue their conversation in the street. Instead, they follow his lead as he shifts the conversation to who they are. Their names, their work, their current situation. Hard working with things not going all that smoothly, it turns out.

The remainder of the ride is short. Bob arrives at his stop and rises to go. They look each other in the eye, Hard Working Guy and Bob, and Bob repeats, No more of that. You can't be harassing kids. My 12 year old boy wouldn't stand a chance against you guys. It's not okay for you to do what you were doing.

Yes sir, the big dude says. Yes sir.

Bob's own boys are noisy in their pride when Dad tells his story. Their Dad stood up for the guy who couldn't stand up for himself. And that's ovation worthy. They know. They know that thugs and gangsters could be hiding behind any face, in any transit seat, especially in this neighborhood. He did the right thing anyway. Yes Sir.