life lessons on the bus
My daughter had a dentist appointment. I could’ve passed it off to my wife, but something in me said, no, this one’s mine.
I wasn’t going to waste another hour staring at a screen while my boss obsessed over decimal points and details that didn’t matter. He’s the kind of guy who confuses noise for vision. That wasn’t where I wanted to be. What I wanted was an adventure with my daughter.
We could’ve driven, but sometimes the harder way is the better way - so we took the bus.
Public transit isn’t glamorous, but it’s real. Dodging slamming doors, finding your balance on potholes, navigating the unspoken seating rules, and watching an entire cross-section of the city compressed into one moving metal box—it’s life school. And it was father-daughter bonding in its rawest form.
It was cold too, that sharp San Francisco chill that cuts through jeans. She was holding strong, but I saw her shiver. Without thinking, I wrapped my jacket around her shoulders. I was freezing, but she was warm. That’s what dads do.
By the time we rolled into the dentist’s office, we were already seasoned travelers. The news was good: zero cavities, clean sweep. All those nights of brushing battles and floss reminders paid off.
On the way back, a woman across the aisle kept smiling at us. Finally, she leaned over and told my daughter, “You’ve got a great dad.” No trophy or performance review will ever top that.
Then a group of tourists stopped us near North Beach. They looked lost and asked if we knew the city. I’d just survived Muni with a kid in tow—combat credentials earned. They wanted a pizza recommendation. No hesitation: Golden Boy. My daughter backed me up, adding, “The crust is the best.” She sounded like a tiny food critic with generations of wisdom. Watching her say it filled me with pride.
Before we headed home, she tugged my sleeve and asked to stop at the bakery. Not for herself, but to pick up a treat to share with her friends at school. She already gets it—food tastes better when you share it. Joy multiplies when it’s given away.
It started as a dentist appointment, but it turned into something more. A memory. A lesson. One more brick in the foundation of the kind of life I want to build, and the kind of dad I want to be.