On the Time I Ran Away from Home [A Childhood Story]

When I was around the age of seven, I ran away from home.  I was fed up with my ho-hum life.  I had had enough of picking up my room, making sure I cleaned underneath my bed, helping my sister climb trees just because I was bigger (along with all of the other things I had to help her with being the older sister), and doing all of the other tough things that a seven year old had to do.  It was exhausting being a seven year old.

Those Berenstain Bears kids had it easy compared to me!

I couldn’t take it anymore!  Why should I have to do things for myself at all?  So one day, I packed my play suitcase, and took off down the block.  I don’t know how far I would have gone, or where I hoped to end up.  Anywhere but at home where I had to DO things, I think was the plan.  All I know is I left all my responsibilities lying behind me in the dust!

See ya CHORES!  You will have to get someone else to do you now!

So long little sister!  Good luck climbing trees on your own!

I was free!  I did it!  I was on my way to independence!

A half of a block into my defiant abandonment of life-as-I-knew-it along with all of its responsibilities, my mom pulled up next me in our station wagon.

“What are you doing?”

“Runnin’ away.”

“Oh.  Well.  I’m headed to the store.  Do you want a ride?”


“Yeah okay.”

By the time we made it home again, I had forgotten all about my daring plan.


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