I ran away from home once.
It was many, many years ago, after a heavy summer rain. My mom, sister and I went for a walk out in the mist and puddles, and I was wearing a great pair of rubber boots. They came up to my skinned knees, and I waded deep into the puddles and little ponds that the rain had left. The mud made great squelchy noises and sucked at my feet. The further I went in, the harder it was to lift my booted feet out of the sludge until-- I couldn't pull my boots out at all! Try as I might, I couldn't get my galoshes out of the ooze! My feet slipped right out.
"Mom!" I squawked.
"What?" she answered.
"Help!" I demanded. And she did! She came over and heaved me and the boots out of the mud puddle. We were very close to my Grandparents' house at the time, just down the road. I could see their house from the puddles on the side of the road, where I started stomping again.
And again, I got stuck!
"Mom!" I screeched.
"Yes?" she asked.
"Help!" I implored. So she trudged over and saved me once again, but with a warning this time.
"Don't get stuck again," she told me. "You can splash around all you want but don't get too deep or you'll get stuck."
You can probably guess what happened next.
I watched my feet as the rainwater gushed around my boots, covering the feet quickly. I waded deeper. The mud started tugging at my boots. I wrenched one foot out, and plummeted it back down, where it stuck. I pulled at the other boot, to find it buried even deeper.
"Mom!" I wailed.
"Nope," she answered. "Remember what I told you?"
"But Mooo-ooom," I whined.
"You gotta get yourself out." And she and my sister KEPT WALKING. The injustice!! They rounded a corner and left my sight. I looked down at my feet sunk deep in the mud. The boots weren't coming out so I had to step out of the boots, the mud squishing around my bare toes.
I had to assess my situation. Clearly my mother and sister were lost to me. Out of sight, out of mind. And they were traitors, leaving me in the MUD. So I knew what I must do. I had to go where I would be loved and appreciated and never left in the muck. So barefoot, I set out for my Grandparent's house!
Imagine my chagrin when they weren't home. I sat on the porch and pouted for a minute, before heading back to the road where my boots were left, submerged. I was trying to yank them loose when my mom and sister rounded the corner again and headed back towards me.
I waited for apologies that never came. But they did free me from the mud, and when we got home I sat on the kitchen counter with my feet in the sink, washing off the dry crusty muck.
Turns out, this is something of a family trait! My dad told me not long ago the story of his runaway experience:
"One day I got it into my head to run away. I told your Grandma, and she was very understanding. She fixed me up a little pack of sandwiches and snacks, and sent me on my way. I walked a few blocks before getting hungry, and I sat down on the curb and ate all my food. After that, I had no choice but to go back home."
A life of adventure thwarted!
Sarah
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