Running Away From Home

I was about 4 years old. My mother was waxing the kitchen floor when I wanted to pass over..."NO..you can't walk here now," she shouted. It's still wet. You'll ruin the shine."

I thought, what do you mean "I can't walk on my own kitchen floor and how can you say NO to me?" (I mean, I'm 4 right?)

Off I go into my bedroom. Pouting. Find a suitcase. Start looking for clothes.

I'll show her. I'll run away from home. Then she'll be sorry for yelling at me. I'll show her.

She comes into my bedroom.
What are you doing?

I'm running away.

Oh.

Well you'll need some clothes...pajamas. Undies. Let me help you pack.

What do you want to take?

Yes, I guess I'll need undies.

Off I go. My paper mache suitcase in hand.

I'm down the street about 100 yards with my suitcase, still angry.

I'll show her how to treat me. She can't yell at me...Then I look back...I think...

What will I eat?

Where will I sleep?

What should I do?

I turn around and go back home.

She says. Oh, back already?

Yes. Head down I trundle back to my bedroom to unpack. A warm house, bed, and food looked pretty good even if I had to eat humble pie.