Bud, Not Buddy is the story of a 10-year-old African American boy named Bud Caldwell, who as the title suggests, insists on being called Bud instead of Buddy. Though an orphan on the run from Flint to Grand Rapids, Bud has a strong sense of identity and a keen understanding of what he wants in life, which helps him overcome the biggest and most challenging of obstacles. Bud hatches numerous plans throughout the narrative, some small, others big, all in a quest to outrun situations that don’t suit him. His age never seems to hamper his resourcefulness; with the poise of someone much older, Bud’s penchant for planning for contingencies oftentimes takes him far. For example, when the toxic environment of the Amoses’ household drives him to run away and he has to spend the night under a Christmas tree, he sagely states that “most folks don’t have sense enough to carry a blanket around with them, but you never know when you might be sleeping under a Christmas tree at the library so I always keep mine handy.” This exemplifies Bud’s typical responses to the most trying situations: to have a blanket, or a plan of escape. This knack for being resourceful is what leads Bud to escape the Amoses’ shed and how to figure out how to get to Grand Rapids without a driver’s license or a guardian. All in all, Bud’s resourcefulness is what ensures his resilience, what helps him survive life on the run, and what allows him to stay true to himself and chase down what he wants in life.
Bud’s escape from the Amoses’ shed is just one example of his ability to use his limited resources to change an outcome for the better. In escaping the shed, Bud simultaneously rejects the Amoses’ attempt to reinvent him as an expendable, unwanted orphan. After being unfairly locked in a dark shed by Mr. Amos, Bud must battle fish heads that guard the door, vampire bats, and a hornet’s nest, things scary enough for “a normal kid [to] […] have busted out crying.” Instead, these obstacles make Bud all the more determined to break out. At one point during the night, Bud, instead of cowering in fear when he sees a vampire bat, tries to use a rake to kill the bat. He doesn’t stop there, however. Bud also takes his “jackknife out of [his] pocket and [pulls] the blade open [so] if [he] didn’t kill him with the rake and it came down to the two of [them] tussling on the floor maybe a silver blade in his heart would be just as good as a silver bullet.” This way of thinking shows Bud’s ability to be quick on his feet in challenging situations that call for sudden action and strategy. His ability to be resourceful is what gives him the courage to use his intuition and skills to attempt to kill the bat and later escape a horde of hornets by breaking through a window. It is no surprise, then, that the adrenaline from the breakout leaves Bud with the determination to never again relive a scenario like the one he is escaping from. He chooses life on the run as a way of exerting control over himself and his life in rejection of the box (or shed) that the world, the Home, and his foster parents have put him in as their ward.
Bud’s resourcefulness is again on full display when he figures out how to get from Flint to Grand Rapids to find the man he thinks is his father. His plan to get to Grand Rapids, like his decision to run away, shows his determination to further distance himself from who he is in Flint—Bud, the orphan—and reinvent himself as simply Bud. With nothing but an estimate of the distance and the length of time it would take him to walk from Flint to Grand Rapids, Bud hatches a plan. He notes that “it would be easiest to do the night part first, […] to stick around the library until it got dark, then head for Grand Rapids.” Afterwards, he shows off his ability to be thorough in his planning and begins to write “down all the names of all the cities [he’d] have to pass through to get there.” Bud’s ability to put his plan into motion with detailed care and foresight shows the extent to which he is unsatisfied with the lack of opportunities Flint offers him to live outside the clutches of an abusive foster parents and foster care system.
Ultimately, Bud’s plan to make it to Grand Rapids becomes his saving grace, a way for him to both assert his right to a life free of abuse and a way for him to show the world who Bud is without the “orphan” attached to it. As Bud cleverly makes it out of the shed, out of the grasp of Mrs. Amos and Mr. Amos, and out of Flint, his resourcefulness becomes his ticket to a world of more opportunities.
Resourcefulness ThemeTracker
Resourcefulness Quotes in Bud, Not Buddy
This was the third foster home I was going to and I’m used to packing up and leaving, but it still surprises me that there are always a few seconds, right after they tell you you’ve got to go, when my nose gets all runny and my throat gets all choky and my eyes get all sting-y. But the tears coming out doesn’t happen to me anymore, I don’t know when it first happened, but it seems like my eyes don’t cry no more.
It’s at six that grown folks don’t think you’re a cute little kid anymore, they talk to you and expect that you understand everything they mean. And you’d best understand too, if you aren’t looking for some real trouble, ‘cause it’s around six that grown folks stop giving you little swats and taps and jump clean up to giving you slugs that’ll knock you right down and have you seeing stars in the middle of the day. The first foster home I was in taught me that real quick.
RULES AND THINGS NUMBER 118
You have to give adults something that they think they can use to hurt you by taking it away. That way they might not take something away that you really do want. Unless they’re crazy or real stupid they won’t take everything because if they did they wouldn’t have anything to hold over your head to hurt you with later.
After while the stings and fish-guard bite quit hurting so much. I started getting madder and madder. I was mad at the Amoses, but most of all I was mad at me for believing there really was a vampire in the shed and for getting trapped like this where there wasn’t anybody who cared what happened to me.
“A bud is a flower-to-be. A flower in waiting. Waiting for just the right warmth and care to open up. It’s a little fist of love waiting to unfold and be seen by the world. And that’s you.”
It’s funny how now that I’m ten years old and just about a man I can see how Momma was so wrong. She was wrong because she probably should’ve told me the things she thought I was too young to hear, because now that she’s gone I’ll never know what they were. Even if I was too young back then I could’ve rememorized them and used them when I did need help, like right now.
“My mother said the same thing, that families should be there for each other all the time. She always used to tell me that no matter where I went or what I did that she’d be there for me, even if she wasn’t somewhere that I could see her […] She would tell me every night before I went to sleep that no matter what happened I could sleep knowing that there had never been a little boy, anywhere, anytime, who was loved more than she loved me. She told me that as long as I remembered that I’d be OK.”
Someone who doesn’t know who their family is, is like dust blowing around in a storm, they don’t really belong any one place […] I might not know who my family was, but I knew they were out there somewhere, and it seemed to make a whole lot more sense to think that they were somewhere around Flint instead of out west.
I said, “Yes, ma’am, my spirit’s a lot stronger than it looks too, most folks are really surprised by that.”