The first time we came to America was in the summer of 2001. We spent two weeks at Disney World in Florida. Our daughter, Brodie, was about 5, and our son, Henry, around 4. We met Mickey Mouse, Minnie Mouse, Pocahontas and Goofy, and we had a wonderful time.
On our last day, we returned the rental car and waited for the bus to take us to the airport. It was worth the wait. The bus itself looked like the others — tired and dusty — but something felt different the moment the driver flung open the doors with gusto and declared, “Welcome to my bus! This is the very best ride in Florida!”
He was in his late 50s, with greying hair and a worn uniform — but his shoes were polished to a shine. As we boarded, “Don’t Worry, Be Happy” played from his personal cassette player (the bus system had broken down). He greeted everyone with enthusiasm: “Parents, tell me your airline — British Airways, Virgin, or for you funny folks from Ireland, Aer Lingus. I’ll take care of your bags — that’s my job. Kids, we’re going to have a wonderful trip!”
At the same time, he entertained the children.
“Hey, young lady, what’s your name?”
“Brodie,” she replied.
“And how old are you, Brodie?”
“I’m 5,” she said proudly.
“Now, can you drive a bus yet?”
Brodie buried her head under her mum’s arm, whispered “No,” and quickly found her seat.
Without missing a beat, the driver turned to Henry. “Hey, little dude, what’s your name?”
Henry, already anticipating the questions, answered confidently: “I’m Henry. I’m 4 — and I can drive a bus!”
“Perfect!” the driver replied. “You’re the co-pilot I’ve been looking for. Jump up here and wait for further instructions!”
Like a proper little Englishman, Henry did exactly that — opening the small door and climbing into the driver’s seat.
Once everyone was seated, the driver lifted Henry onto his right knee. Gaynor squeezed my arm; I reassured her everything would be fine — surely, we’d just circle the parking lot before heading off. Then, over the microphone, the driver asked, “Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls — do you think Henry can drive this bus?”
“YES!” the children shouted, while the parents watched with amused curiosity.
And for a few unforgettable seconds, he did.
At a mighty 3 mph, Henry gripped the steering wheel, his face set with fierce determination. Then the driver gently returned him to his seat. As Henry walked down the aisle, he was met with high-fives and applause. You could almost see him grow an inch taller.
When we arrived at the airport, Brodie tugged on the driver’s sleeve and asked his name.
“I AM,” he replied. “That’s my name — I. A. M.”
Henry, now brimming with confidence, gave the driver’s sleeve a firm tug. “Oh yeah? What’s your last name then?”
The driver crouched down, looked him straight in the eye, and said, “Friendly. That’s my name — I AM Friendly. Have a nice day, Henry. It was an honor to co-pilot with you.”
Henry skipped off into the airport.
Looking back, I doubt his name was really I AM Friendly. But for that stretch between Disney and the airport, that’s exactly who he chose to be. He had made a simple, powerful decision about how he would show up — and he delivered on it completely.
When you define yourself in the present tense, in a positive way — “I am friendly,” “I am helpful,” “I am exceptional” — it becomes much harder not to live up to it.
Back in England, the grandparents came over to see the photos and hear about our trip. I can still picture Henry in his Thomas the Tank Engine pajamas and Garfield slippers saying, “Granny, Gramps — you’ll never guess what. We met Mickey Mouse, Minnie Mouse, Pocahontas and Goofy. But best of all, on the last day, I got to ride I AM Friendly’s bus!”
To Henry, the driver was just as much a part of Disney as the characters.
It makes you wonder: Why do some people choose the “I AM Friendly” approach to service, while others seem to choose “I AM Miserable”?
We all play roles every day — in our work, our families, and our communities. If we only get one life, why not choose to show up in a way that lifts others? Why not decide, deliberately, who we are going to be — and then live it out?
Because sometimes, the smallest roles leave the biggest impressions.
Paul Butler is a Santa Clarita resident and a client partner with Newleaf Training and Development of Valencia (newleaftd.com). For questions or comments, email Butler at [email protected].
