In her first year of life, my child has ridden the following routes:
1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 7, 8, 12, 13, 14, 16, 17, 18, 21, 23, 25, 26, 27, 36, 41, 44, 48, 54, 55, 56, 60, 66, 70, 74, 134, 150, 174, 194, 230, 255, 358, 545, 550, 554, 590–not to mention the Monorail, Puyallup Fair shuttle, Elliott Bay Water Taxi, Detroit People Mover, Amtrak, Portland Streetcar, and a few Portland bus routes.

How I know Chicklet is a true BCiT:
Yesterday, we met my friend Kelley and her baby daughter Evan for our weekly walk/lunch at Green Lake. After lunch, I took a credit card out of my wallet to pay our bill. Chicklet, in her custom of naming everything she sees, pointed at the card and announced (with great enthusiasm), “Buhpash!”*
And then there was this morning, when we three headed downtown on the 27 (eventual destination: Seattle Children’s Theater). As soon as we sat down, Chicklet reached for my bag. “Bik!”** she demanded. “Bik! Bik!”

Our seasoned bus rider, celebrating Halloween at Daddy’s office (48 + 545) party
Translations:
*Bus pass
**Book

This is June. June is a bus chick in training. June’s regular route is the 21, but in her four months on this earth, she has ridden on several others, including the 10, 43, 54, and 55. In a couple of years, June will learn to ring the bell when she’s ready to get off. A few years after that, she’ll learn when and how much to pay, and how to keep track of her transfer. Finally, after she has mastered these skills, been advised about talking to strangers, and memorized her address, she will be allowed to ride by herself–not too far, and not for too long, but alone. On this day, she will join the worldwide sisterhood of bus chicks. Hopefully by then I will have figured out what to do for an initiation ceremony.
My youngest brother Joel, a brilliant, handsome, six-foot-four inch, iron-pumping, soccer-playing, second-year dental student, is also a bus rider. (Yes, I do know all the 



