It was my first bus ride home from Kindergarten. I was five. Our mother had described the bus driver as the guy with cowboy boots and a cowboy hat. That's how I was supposed to know which bus I was supposed to get on. It was Kansas. Everyone had a cowboy hat and boots! I did what any five year old would do: I chose the guy with the coolest looking boots. When Rita realized her little brother had gotten on the wrong bus, she quickly got off the right bus to go rescue me. My bus pulled away before she could get to it, but she chased it down on foot for two blocks before it stoped. Together we rode the wrong bus until it eventually took us home. I don't know too many 13 year old girls who would do that for their brother. Family was always more imprtant than image. Rita didn't always do what was best for herself, but she always tried to do what she thought was best for family and those she loved.
