Running Away From Home

So, I ran away from home when I was seven. I read a lot when I was young and someone was always running away. It just seemed to be something one did, so I decided to wait for the opportunity. One day I argued with my mother over something not very important, I can’t even remember what it was about, and I thought okay here we go. Before starting out, I went to my best friend’s house and told her I was running away to my Aunt’s house. And off I went - on foot.

My Aunt lived five miles away.  We had driven it many times so I knew the route. There were many busy streets, and I had no fear.  I walked and walked and had a jolly time. It took me a little longer than I thought (I was seven after all) but I was performing a rite of passage. I didn’t take any money and remember thinking how hungry I was, and hoping my Aunt would have some food. 

My friend told her mother who told my mother, and my parents went searching for me. I have a good sense of direction and took many short cuts. It was this that prevented my parents from finding me on the route. Apparently, my father had driven back and forth hoping to spot me.  

Finally, I arrived at my Aunt’s house and it was my mother who opened the door. She was overwhelmed to see me. I am sure my parents were distraught, though this was not the reason I ran away, I simply wanted the experience. I was not punished, admonished but not punished. It was a simpler time and I was lucky.

My cousin told me that my Aunt used this story over and over again praising my sense of direction and I guess hoping to improve hers. What strikes me about this story is that I’m still the same way.  I love to walk and figure out new routes and find adventures.  I just don’t call it running away from home.