In seventh grade, I was on the basketball team, not because I was good, but probably because they needed enough warm bodies to fill a bench (and I was tall). I usually got to play in the “5th Quarter,” the extra quarter tacked on after the real game ended so the “B” team could get some time on the court.
This story isn’t about basketball, though. It’s about something I was good at: knowing where I was going.
For most of our away games, we rode the bus with the eighth graders. But on this trip, the ninth graders came along. They were older and took the back seats, leaving us seventh- and eighth-graders up front. They liked to remind us that they were in charge.
We were headed to play an away game against Grace, Idaho. I knew that route like the back of my hand. Every year, our family made the same drive to Grace for the pulling matches. We also traveled that way to Preston, Richfield, Logan, Ogden, and many other places. Let’s just say, our family drove that stretch of road a lot. I’d seen it more times than I could count.
We boarded the bus at the junior high and traveled north on Highway 89 through Freedom, Wyoming. So far, so good. We turned up Tincup, toward Wayan and Soda Springs. But as we left Soda Springs on Highway 30, I noticed the driver didn’t take the turn toward Grace. He just kept going, straight across the valley toward Lava Hot Springs.
At first, I thought maybe I missed something. But the further we drove, the more certain I became. I leaned over to the kids next to me and said, “I think we missed the turn to Grace.”
A couple of the ninth graders overheard my comment.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” one of them scoffed. “The bus driver’s not lost, you are.”
Another added, “What are you, stupid?”
I was embarrassed and shrank back into my seat. Who was I to argue with high schoolers?
About 15 miles later, the bus pulled into a gas station in Lava Hot Springs. The coaches got off and made a few phone calls. When they came back on the bus, one of them said, “Well, we’re in the wrong place. We missed the turn to Grace.”
There was a long pause. Then one of the ninth graders piped up and said, “That Jasperson kid said we missed the turn earlier.”
Coach Erickson came down the aisle to me and asked, “Is that true?”
I nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I did,” I said. “Nobody believed me.”
Coach took me to the front of the bus. “Come sit up here,” he said, pointing to the hood over the engine.
So I rode the rest of the way sitting up front, giving the bus driver directions as we retraced our route over the mountain pass and back toward Soda Springs. I wasn’t a scoring threat on the basketball court, but in that moment, I was the guy who knew the way.
The ninth graders had the first game. Because we were going to be late, the coaches made them change into their uniforms while we were still driving. As soon as the bus pulled up to the school in Grace, they jumped out and went straight into the gym to warm up.
I stayed in my seat near the front, watching it all unfold with quiet satisfaction.
That day didn’t make me a better basketball player, but it taught me something better: sometimes it’s not about being the loudest voice or the biggest kid on the bus, it’s about knowing where you're going and having the courage to speak up, even if nobody listens.
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