Running Away from Home

I was about 6 years old, and I was really mad at my mother.  I don't remember why I was mad, but I was so upset that I wanted her to be very worried about me.

I ran out of the house, grabbed my red tricycle, and started madly peddling down the gravel road towards Grandma's house. Halfway there, I realized that Mom would likely check for me there first thing.  So I thought I'd really outfox her, and went into the big ditch and hid in some trees.  It seemed like it took her a long time, but soon she walked past me on her way up town. 

I waited as she inevitably came back. As she walked past the area I hid within, I could hear her say, "I am so sad.  I hope Patricia comes home soon..."  I almost spoke up, but I was a very stubborn little girl,and held onto my anger.  After she left for home, I waited to make sure she was really gone.

I struggled to drag my trike back to the road, but I did it.  On to Grandma's house!  When I got there a couple of minutes later, I ran into the front porch, letting the wooden screen door slam behind me. Inside, Grandma was in the kitchen.  I don't really remember a lot after that, except that once there, I felt home-free.  I had accomplished my goals:  I ran away, and I worried my Mom.  I was satisfied.  I obviously got picked up at some point and brought home.  But in the meantime, I may have managed to wrangle an overnight at Grandma's house with homemade hot cocoa and brown sugar toast in the morning...