Ms. Frizzle Is My Favourite Teacher

When I was a kid, I used to tell time in TV episodes. Every weekday morning, after my teeth were brushed and my lunch was packed, I sat down on the carpet in front of our ginormous tube TV to watch a few cartoons. For kids growing up in Canada without cable, there were three channels to choose from: PBS, CBC, and Knowledge Kids.

I almost always picked Knowledge Kids, because that meant I could squeeze in an episode of my favourite show, The Magic School Bus, while I finished my bowl of cereal. As soon as the credits rolled, it was time to walk to school. I was never late. When I wanted to know how my body could possibly fight a cold all on its own, the class took a trip to the nervous system and learned all about white blood cells. When I wondered why the water at the beach kept rising and falling, they turned into mussels so that they could explain the tides. Whatever my question, Ms. Frizzle had the answer.

The Magic School Bus lit up my brain every time I watched it. I was fascinated watching Ms. Frizzle and her class on their journeys to space, the deep sea, the human digestive system and the Cretaceous period. The magical realism of the show, paired with Ms. Frizzle's unbridled enthusiasm and love for her students, made lesson topics that I grumbled at in school totally gripping (and easy to understand). Sometimes it almost felt like she popped right out of the screen and was speaking right to me. That's why, at the ripe old age of eight, I was already lamenting the poor decision making of TV executives.

After a few months of the same routine—teeth, lunch, cereal, Magic School Bus—I started to realize that something was wrong. I'd seen all this before. I'd already learned about the food chain through Keesha's tunafish sandwich. I'd seen Arnold freeze his head off in space just to shut up his annoying cousin. I'd watched Dorothy Ann teach her classmates about physics through a very chaotic frictionless baseball game. Despite the genius of the show, The Magic School Bus only got four short seasons. I'd seen all 52 episodes, and there were no more adventures for me to go on. I was heartbroken. If ever there was a show that deserved more, it was this one.

Now in my adulthood, I'm searching for that curiosity, that joie de vivre, that The Magic School Bus helped to foster. I used to approach the world with wonder. When I didn't understand something, I asked questions. Now I just shrug my shoulders and think, That's just the way things are. It's hard not to feel defeated in the face of such complex concepts as AI and global supply chains, even how they get my GMO apples to stay so crispy. There's so much information out there, and I understand so little of it. I find myself wishing that there was someone who could explain it to me in terms I can actually get my head around.

Maybe that's why I spent this rainy May long weekend sitting in my living room with a bowl of cereal, watching reruns of The Magic School Bus. Really, the only differences were that I was watching on a flatscreen instead of a tube TV, and on Netflix instead of Knowledge Kids. I still don't have cable.

Despite my best attempts, I just wasn't feeling the magic. Even with my nostalgia-fuelled memories of each episode, I found myself mourning the loss of the show that stoked my love for learning, and just feeling all around sorry for myself. How could they cancel The Magic School Bus? It had endless potential. It was the peak of edutainment! Now, I felt like I needed it now more than ever.

Then I heard a familiar beeping horn. A voice that came from everywhere and nowhere shouted, "Seatbelts, everyone!" With a sound like a hurricane, an animated anthropomorphic bus flew from my television screen and out my open window. It burst into full-size splendor on the corner outside my teeny-tiny basement suite. I ran outside, and there they all were.

Wanda, Carlos, Keesha, DA, Phoebe, Ralphie, Tim, Arnold and the enigmatic master of magic herself, Ms. Frizzle, were all there disembarking the bus. Someone grumbled, "I think I'm gonna be sick." Good old Ralphie.

"Okay class, today we are learning about television. More specifically, what happens to TV shows after they end. We have a special guest with us today. Gwen has some questions of her own that will help guide our lesson."

Ms. Frizzle knew my name.

"According to my research, television shows are cancelled for a variety of reasons including poor ratings, low viewership, and high production costs," piped up Dorothy Ann.

"Very good DA!" said Ms. Frizzle. "But sometimes there's more to the story. Are you ready Gwen?"

I stammered a clumsy yes. Not the first impression I wanted to make.

"Well then, to the bus!"

"I knew I should have stayed home today," groaned Arnold.

Before I could even take a seat, Ms. Frizzle turned to me.

"So, what do you want to learn today?"

I didn't know what to say. I just stared at her, mind blank.

"A little stuck? It happens. Class, give her a hand! Look around you, what can we learn about today?"

"How do engines make cars move?" asked Keesha, pointing at a truck driving by.

"How do emails get from one place to another so fast?" asked Tim.

"How does electricity work?" Phoebe chimed in.

I was starting to feel it again. That feeling that I'd been looking for ever since elementary school. The world was full of amazing things. All I had to do was look. Ms. Frizzle looked at me, a knowing smile on her face.

"You know what? I don't really understand electricity. Let's start with that.

Before I knew it, we shrunk down to particle size and we were flying straight towards my grimy kitchen electrical socket.

I went on many adventures the day that the Magic School Bus visited my apartment. After our subatomic journey through power lines and substations, we explored the pistons and valves of a car engine and even learned why planets are spheres (gravity pulls mass towards a centre equally from all directions). But when we finally arrived back home I still had one question left.

"Ms. Frizzle, you still haven't told me why The Magic School Bus was cancelled. Was it poor ratings? Was it that people stopped watching? Why?"

"Well, I'm afraid that I don't have an answer for that question, Gwen. After four seasons, executives decided that that was enough. They moved me and my class out of the way to make more shows for younger preschoolers. I personally think that the kids could've handled my lessons, but I'm not the one with final say. They did continue to run the show on television well after it finished creating new episodes though. That's how you were able to watch it in the 2000s, even though the show ended in 1997. But I have a question for you now. Is it really the show that you miss?"

I had to stop to think about it. Of course there were parts of the show that I missed. The theme song for one, performed by Little Richard, is incredible. I missed hearing Lily Tomlin's (Emmy Award winning) performance as Ms. Frizzle. But maybe I never really missed The Magic School Bus itself, I missed the way it made me think. I would have loved more stories with my favourite teacher and her adventurous class when I was little, but I'm in my twenties now. My world is full of a lot more worries than when I was an eight-year-old learning about photosynthesis over a bowl of Cheerios.

I looked at Ms. Frizzle. There was that knowing smile again. My favourite teacher still had one final lesson for me.

"I guess not," I said.

"You'll always have your memories of the show, Gwen. The thing you're really after can't just disappear. It's all around you. All you have to do is remember to take chances, make mistakes and get messy. That was always the point."

Even I can't argue with that.