It was just like
seeing a self in miniature that had gotten lost and ensnared in the
thickets of time: father driving the bus and this boy seated on a
padded metal covering that went over the transmission. At times the
boy touched the clutch hoping to one day guide the mammoth beast like
his father (the boy believing that his father was the perfection of all
things possible). A plastic red container of ice and water was on this
pedestal where the boy sat and from it a straw stuck out of the lid and
he drank and ate fish chips that were in a plastic sack. He just ate
and drank as the bus circled around its route of the city. How drab it
all was but for a boy and yet believing his father to be the perfection
of all things, such self-restraint was possible. Their father had had
such a job when Kumpee was a young boy. For a year or two of such
journeys, sitting there with the highest admiration for a father, he
was filled with the highest love that was initiating him into the
positive dimensions of manhood and responsibility. When his father
lost his job and worked on the street alongside of their mother, he
launched his tirades against the younger brothers who were
"suck-calves" on his wife.
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