For most of my elementary school career the bus stop was at the end of our driveway. It was pretty awesome, especially in January.

Our bus stop was magical. Seriously. There were about fourteen kids who would line up there every day at least twenty minutes before the bus would come. Only we didn’t ever actually line up, instead we played Pom Pom Pollaway. I’m not sure if this is a real game our one we made up, or maybe we learned it in gym.

Pom Pom Pollaway was sort of like tag. You’d start with one person who was It. That person would stand in the middle of the street, between two random lines. The lines were actual cracks in 121st Ave right in front of our house. The cracks were about 20 feet apart. Everyone who was Not It would line up behind one crack, the person who was It would sing/chant “Pom Pom Pollaway, something something or I’ll take you away,” and then everyone would take off like mad to the other line, running in the street up into the yards. If you were tagged, you’d have to be in the middle with the It person and the game would proceed until there was only one person Not It.

The game was gobs of fun and we’d play it every single day before school started, except when we did dancing in gym class. Once we learned the Virginia Reel, we spent two weeks square dancing. I cannot imagine what the bus driver thought when pulling up to the bus stop to find a dozen kids square dancing.

But eventually that grew tired and we’d go right back to Pom Pom Pollaway. When we first started playing we’d waste a lot of time arguing over who was going to be All-time King Sayer in trying to determine who was It. Being All-time King Sayer meant you practically got to choose who was it. Who amongst us hasn’t fudged on “Ink a bink a bottle of ink, the cork fell out and you stink. Not because you’re dirty. Not because you’re clean. Just because you kissed a boy behind a magazine and you are not it?” Also, nice slut-shaming at such an early age. But I digress.

Once Sister #2 developed a big, fat crush on Greg Fryer, she always volunteered to be It. This allowed her to chase Greg under the guise of the game. It worked out well for everyone.

All those years of playing in the middle of the road and dancing on the side of it, I never remember seeing a parent. I can’t recall any adult ever being at the bus stop. Not on the first day of school, not on the last, not at all I can think of. No cameras. No parents. All fun.

I felt sorry for the kids at The Tibbles’ bus stop with their parents lurking about on the sidewalk, or in their cars nearby. I hope as the school year progresses the parents fall away and the kids get to invent their own awesome bus stop activities.