Actually, not really.
But, as a kid, I used to fantasize about running away from home.
I would get mad at my mom, dad, or siblings, and I’d imagine packing my things and leaving forever.
I’d plan on packing my favorite clothes. I thought that I’d leave all my pajamas because living outside meant that pajamas weren’t a good option. I’d be too cold, or they’d get torn easily. So jeans, shirts, and my favorite hoodie would be my clothes. I also planned to wear my most comfortable tennis shoes because I knew I’d do a lot of walking, since I didn’t have my driver’s license yet.
Then, I’d scour the kitchen for a little food. I wouldn’t take canned goods, even though they would last a long time, because they were heavy, and I didn’t want to have to take a can opener, too. I’d grab things like bread, peanut butter, chips, and crackers. They were things I wouldn’t have to cook, and I knew I liked them.
I planned to live at a park near the library. There was a small play house that would have been nice for sleeping, and, if it got too cold, I could go across the street to the library. They had heat and entertainment. Plus, I already had my own library card, so I could check out books to read in my little house.
It was silly to think of things like that, but I thought it would be amazing to live on my own. I wouldn’t have a bed time, and there would be no one to push me around or take my stuff.
But, in the end, I knew I didn’t want to leave. I imagined my mom crying when she realized I was gone, and it broke my heart. I didn’t want to upset her, no matter how unhappy I was with my little life. I’m glad, now, that I never upset my mom that way, either. She had a pretty rough life, and having a missing kid isn’t exactly the kind of stress that I’d like to put on her.
Still… it was fun to think about. 🙂