Everyone knew it was my bus. Grandpa made that clear; that was his promise, and it was the first thing I looked for when we arrived at the farm every summer. What kid my age (or any age for that matter) was the proud owner of his own school bus? Grandpa made lots of promises to us kids. Mike got the boat, the old wooden “runabout” that needed soaking in the farm pond, which was just big enough for the boat to sit and soak. That annual tradition was to make it lake-worthy by making the wood slats (that made up the hull) expand from the water. A good soaking would keep the vessel from leaking water all summer long, assuming you used it regularly and didn’t let it completely dry out.

That reminds me of the time, some years later, when our family was living in Hawaii (Dad worked for the army as a civilian and got a plum job there), where Gramps and Grams visited us for a tropical reprieve from the hearty northern Minnesota weather. One day, my buddy and his two brothers and I went out shark hunting in Kaneohe Bay on the island’s windward side, known for its higher-than-typical shark sightings. I was about sixteen years old. Once we got well out into the bay, maybe a mile or two out, we dumped our shark attractant and bait in the water and lashed machetes on the ends of the oars, ready to do battle with those predators who were about to meet their match. But the wooden boat we had borrowed sprung a leak, and then the motor conked out. We couldn’t bail fast enough. I refer you again to the note above about my age. But I am getting away from the farm story; I’ll come back to the shark hunting at another time.

Yes, Grandpa’s boat back at the farm was powered by an eighteen-horsepower Evinrude workhorse, one of the most popular outboards of that day. Even though the boat and motor were Mike’s, I ended up with it, and it still worked like a charm some forty or fifty years later. As old-timers used to say, “They just don’t make things like they used to!”

As for my sister, Beth, I have no idea what was hers from the farm. She was a girl, about five years older than me, almost a woman, and she lived in a different world from mine. She always got to stay up later, was included in adult conversations, and never would be caught fishing or throwing the old ball around. I was all boy, interested in boy things, like exploring, baseball, boats … and busses—so she just didn’t interest me. And I couldn’t understand why older boys would come around the house to see her—she was an early bloomer (which was baffling to me as a pre-adolescent boy), so she got lots of attention from older guys. My interest in girls and curls came much later.

But my bus, she was a beaut. Grampa kept it parked on the back forty acres, a bit past the barn to the left in the overgrown grassy area next to a tree stand. That was a place of vast exploration for Mike, my older brother, and me. He was three years older, but we were best buds. We did everything together. And it was good having my own personal bodyguard, which came in handy on a few occasions when a bully would try to throw me in a snowbank or something (thanks, Mike!).

But it was back there that Gramps kept my bus. Yes, it was a full-size school bus. Mind you, it was pretty old and rusty, but Gramps planned to renovate it as a camper, like a precursor to a Winnebago (or RV in today’s more popular terminology). One summer, I discovered that he had made good progress; the seats were all taken out. Dad kept saying, “Son, don’t get your hopes up. Grandpa has good intentions …” But, Grandpa promised, and that was one of the things that kept me dreaming about going back to the farm. And I dreamed of one day traveling all over the country in a converted bus camper.

Grandpa also told me that I was Major League baseball material, a sure bet to get a contract with the Yankees. I mean, he was a good judge of talent. When we would play catch, he would dramatically take his ball-glove off after one of my, what he called, “fastball barnburner” pitches, shaking his hand from the pain. He believed in me, and I was propelled into playing pitcher in sandlot baseball and in high school.

In time, it became apparent that the bus would never become a camper, and I would never make it to the big leagues. By the time those realizations settled in, it didn’t matter anymore. What did matter is that that Grandpa believed in me and gave me dreams, big dreams. I am reminded of a quote by Bobby Kennedy, “Some men see things as they are, and ask why. I dream of things that never were, and ask why not.”

My dreams now are not of busses or boats. I am spurred on by the promises of my heavenly Father, who invites each of us to step out in faith, to risk going against the grain of prevailing opinion, to dare to reach out to those in need, to help start whatever needs starting, to not always play it safe. Grandpa believed in me, and many others believed in and have encouraged me all along. Most importantly, God believes in me.