Imagine the buses the way they were in the 1970's. No air-ride suspension, just springs and steel leaves that were usually worn to give your kidneys a real jolt when they bottomed out, hard molded plastic seats without even the thought of padding, where the engine seemed louder in the bus than outside, and the one with air conditioning was a rare treat. There was also no way to remove the graffiti.

Seven-year-old Cole's charge was to accompany his grandmother every time she went to the Lexington Market to get the meat for the Sunday dinners she had once a month.

While he wowed the passengers with reading every bus advertisement that he could see, what kept himself occupied the most was trying to decipher the Rosetta stone-like layers of graffiti to see what they said. The ever observant, never cussing Grandma would let out an exclamation under her breath whenever she found a dirty word before he did.

At that time, there wasn't a Martin Luther King holiday, but it never stopped the teachers from not only mentioning him, but talking about the civil rights movement. Along with him, it was mentioned that it started with Rosa Parks refusing to go to the back of the bus. While Cole thought that there were plenty of good reasons for black people to protest their treatment, the weakest reason in his mind was they should be happy to sit at the back of the bus. After all, that was the one place Cole, being a white boy wanted to sit. It frustrated him that Grandma wouldn't allow him to do so.

He tried to sweet talk her with his sign reading skills and he had long since learned not to show off his graffiti reading ones. He was hoping to get the black people's sympathy by publicly asking, "Grandma, can I sit in the back of the bus?"

Though meant to be said quietly, she angrily hissed out, "Cole! We are not the type of people to sit at the back of the bus!"

He was happy that the entire bus's eyes were now focused on her, and hoping that her shame would make her change her mind, but she managed to save face, and explained, "The back of the bus is no place for a young boy. It is smelly, loud enough to damage your hearing and so bumpy of a ride, you'll be lucky if you aren't hurt." She looked around and while there were several jaundiced eyes still being levied, there was a hint of understanding, so she was satisfied.

A middle-aged black man chimed in, "Ma'am, let him ride on the back of the bus, it seems that he would really enjoy it."

But he was overruled by a complete stranger, a heavy-set black elderly woman said with her commanding voice, "Shut up Nig, she's right, it isn't a good place for a young boy. Hell, it isn't even a good enough place for us, why do you think we raised so much hell?"

While Cole wished that lady wasn't on the bus, all of the black kids in the back of the bus were wondering what the big deal was, after all it was their preferred perch. Cole's grandmother wished her grandson never brought the whole thing up.

For the next several bus trips, Cole was caught in an Eagle talon-like grip and told not to say a word, so much for reading. The trips into Baltimore city had now been turned into a chore, and he still desired the ride of his life that was being denied to him, now by both white and black people. He pondered his plight going through Lexington Market, but couldn't come up with any idea, even the slightest. It wasn't until he saw an arguing couple, where he got an idea to get himself released from his grandma when he saw the man finally work his charm to fix his situation.

Waiting once again at the bus stop to return home, Cole said, "Grandma, you're right, I don't want to sit in the back of the bus." She was so thankful that a maturing logic prevailed. "Grandma, I'm a big boy, can I put my own money into the meter?"

Grandma was so touched at this, she handed him the money and said, "Sure, Cole."

But Cole was happy as the plan was going well. Just as the bus pulled up and opened the doors, he jumped ahead of two people and ran directly on the bus. Cole knew what this meant and the anger it would generate, but a goal is a goal, and he used his youthful charm to tame the lions now behind him. "My grandma is letting me put the money into the meter myself!"

Cole had picked the one response that calmed the most savage of beasts or the slightest of slights, though Cole's grandmother was aghast at his behavior. Once the last coin clanked in the meter, Cole was once again off on his cause: to sit in the one place he was prohibited from, the seat in the back of the bus.

When Grandma regained her bearings, she was horrified and worried to see her grandson sitting in the one place he wasn't supposed to be. She not only kept looking back during the ride, but expressed her apprehension to any passenger within earshot; totally befuddled at her grandson sitting in the place of shame, but appearing as a king sitting upon his throne.

Her fellow riders, not depending upon their race or station in life, consoled her. "Ma'am, I wouldn't worry, your grandson appears to be a person on top of the world." Many questioned their own thoughts about things openly. The black kids sitting beside him viewed him as an example of how life should treat you.

It was a pleasant shock to him, to see when he lifted his feet from the floor, a good jolt would send him off of the seat and into the air. Those kids were in awe of how the simple pleasures that could be gained from everyday life, really benefits one's life and spirit. Soon all the children were lifting their feet.

In the boy's future, the multi-millionaires and aspiring CEO's would truly admire him for his spirit and sense of adventure, while the lesser person would see someone to look up to. Through adult life, this adventuring spirit, be it brought about by something so small a pleasure or questioning thought, would be a guiding force that one's steadfast desires can lead to big personal rewards in life.

On Cole's new bus, he realized that everyone is his equal until they prove otherwise; "otherwise," being a behavioral or moral decision. It mattered not what seat position he could wrangle or bully on a bus, but how he really was that mattered. Aging, he realized what a blessing it is to a person who gave up their seat for his comfort. He still liked the back of the bus, as it reminded him of the adventure he sought out in life, but now there was air ride suspension, air conditioning and to his regret, less graffiti to keep him amused.