Quote:
Originally posted by Replaced_Texan
My only runaway attempt in memory was thwarted by the "the amount of trouble you'd be in if you cross (four major streets surrounding my neighborhood) without a grown-up is larger than a spanking, a grounding from everything you love and hold dear, and a diet of vienna sausages, liver, and brussels sprouts for the rest of your life" threat. I probably spent an hour looking at one of those streets trying to psych myself up into crossing it. Ultimately, I figured that the threat would still kick into place even if I managed to never, ever see them again, like I shouted when I left the house. My mother wasn't as overjoyed by my forgiving her and agreeing to stay in the family as I thought she'd be.
I don't remember why I was running away.
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When I was 6 or 7, I got real upset for some reason, packed a bag of toys and a peanut butter sandwich, and left home in search of freedom from the tyranny of my parents. I found this freedom in the park near my house, and marvelled at my emancipation all day long. Then it got dark, my sandwich was long gone, and I decided to be the bigger person and forgive my parents, and made it home in time for dinner. From that point on, they knew who was boss.
