Did you ever want to run away from home? I did. I think everyone has. Probably for the same reason, too: something “unfair” had occurred, or yet another punishment given for some wrong action. Like me, you probably don’t remember why you wanted to run away – you just know you did.
When I was seven or eight years old, an acquaintance of mine did run away. I knew her from church. She was the cousin of my best friend. A year older than me, she didn’t attend the same school as I did that year but went to the new elementary school which had been built up the hill behind our house. So, one day after school when I was in the living room doing something, I happened to look out our front windows and saw Beth and another girl walking across our front lawn. I watched them walk across our driveway and then across Mrs. Mayberry’s yard next door until I could see them no longer. I thought that was odd because I was pretty sure neither Beth nor the other girl (who I knew only by sight) lived anywhere near me. No kids I knew lived anywhere near me except a passing acquaintance with a few much older than me down the road in the little trailer park neighborhood. An hour or so later that afternoon, a very anxious adult knocking on our door and speaking to my mom informed me that Beth didn’t live anywhere near me: she had run away from school that afternoon. As far as childhood runaway plans go, this one was well thought out with extra things in their backpacks, hiding somewhere and missing their buses, and then leaving the school and finding their way across our yards down towards the factory Heil Quaker where they were eventually found that night. I don’t remember telling my mom and the adult that I had seen Beth, but I must have for I certainly told my friends that night at church. Beth was still missing at that point and it was all anyone was talking about. I do remember rather admiring Beth for going through with it, but I also remember how her “courage” scared me. The reality of what running away from home actually meant hit home. After that day, I never thought about running away again.
But this weekend, Emry decided to run away. In her case, she contemplates this action whenever Ethan has annoyed her to a breaking point. Which, some days, is not difficult for him to do. He had done so that evening and so when I went out to see what the two of them were up to, Emry asked me if she could run away. The fact that she felt she needed to ask permission told me two things: 1) she doesn’t quite understand the whole idea of running away, and 2) she’s a firstborn.
I won’t deny that the idea of her following through on her actions scared me a bit. But addressing one of the quirks of her personality seemed to stall the whole idea. Emry is nothing if not a planner…my questions obviously caused her to realize she did not have the whole plan worked out. For she had decided to run away for only four weeks. And she wanted to run away to a tree house. But what she was going to eat, or how she would get to activities like dance lessons and soccer had not yet been worked out. We avoided running away that very night by leaving open questions and deciding to watch Paw Patrol.
However, another of the quirks of Emry’s personality is she has the memory of an elephant. There is very little that girl forgets. And so the next morning she asked again if she could run away. Then she told me she needed to take my phone so she could call me. (When I pointed out if she had my phone she could not call me as I would not have my phone, she had to stop and think that through.) She also asked if she could have some money so she could buy food. And the four weeks had shrunk to two so she wouldn’t miss too many dance lessons or soccer games. Following through on all of her plans, though, was cut short when we needed to get ready to go to soccer. Yet another crisis avoided.
However, she does have the whole idea now stuck in her head so I am sure we will hear of it again and again whenever Ethan annoys her or Mama and Papa demand obedience to something she would rather ignore. Perhaps next time she brings it up I’ll offer to run away with her. Quite honestly, four weeks in a tree house with no responsibility would be amazing.
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