I suddenly remembered the school I attended in second grade: Lugonia School.

I was knitting and binge-watching Monk, and there was a truck driving through the mountains. I remembered riding the bus from San Bernardino, where I lived, to Lugonia Elementary.

Strange, eh?

The current school was built a couple of years before I was born, so that must be the school building I attended. In the 21st century, nearly half the students are Hispanic. The next largest group is African-American. Then white, then Asian.

I don't remember the ethnic makeup of the school when I attended, but I was bused there. Since I am white, I suppose my role was to bring more white students to a school with relatively few.

Apparently the plan didn't work.

Busing was supposed to help desegregate schools. It's just about 18 minutes from San Bernardino to Lugonia school now. I remember a long drive through mountains. The map doesn't support that memory.

I remember being unhappy. Actively unhappy. I thought about my father a lot while riding on the bus. He had died. I am not sure how long before because I was skipped from kindergarten to first grade,so I would have been 5 in first grade and 6 in second. I was 6 when my father died. So it was sometime during that year that I lost my father. 

It probably makes sense that I was unhappy. I don't think I ever talked about it and I don't remember any teacher ever mentioning it. I suppose nowadays they would.

Such an odd, sudden memory to resurface.