After My Son Was Seated in the Back Row, I Stopped Hiding

On the first day of school, the parent committee was collecting information about everyone's drop-off and pickup vehicles, saying it would help the school with safety management. "Cody's dad, your family drives a Maybach, right? Let's put Cody in the front row, center." "Priya's dad, a Rolls-Royce? No problem, class president goes to Priya." The parent representative read down the list, all smiles as she handed out seats and class officer titles. When it was finally my turn, the parent representative's eyes went wide. She flipped the registration form back and forth a few times, then spoke slowly. "Cole's dad, a city bus..." The moment she said it, the parents around us burst out laughing. Mrs. Abbott rolled her eyes and swept a disdainful look over my son. "Julie, put him in the very back row. My son has a sharp nose, he can't stand that smell." My son looked up at me, hurt and confused. "Dad, why does everybody else get to pick their own seat, and I only get the back row? Was I bad?" Mrs. Abbott pulled a Rolls-Royce key out of her pocket and laughed out loud. "Listen, kid, you ride the bus. You really think you get the front row?" I rested my hand on my son's head and slowly lifted my eyes. "And if my son rode in an armored state VIP shuttle bus?"