This was a paper I had to turn in for my English Final. I liked it so much, that I decided to make it public. This was the story of the only time I ever ran away from home.
After a long, winding trip to the shiny state of Florida at the age of three, I ran away from home. Now, to say that I “ran away” is a bit of an over exaggeration. With my mind still in development, I believe it was more of a cry for help than anything. But that cry for help was nothing of concern; I simply didn’t know where I was. Being in Florida for a week and suddenly returning home, my mind probably didn’t recognize my own house. That being the case, I did what any secluded, three year-old child did when they were lost: I tried to find my way back home, away from my home.
It all began in the state of Florida. The sun was overbearingly hot and the people were loud and obnoxious. The previous statement was a joke, of course; I didn’t have the mind to remember anything from the trip. What I did remember, however, was that I was staying in the same house for the entirety of the trip. Whatever house this may be or whom it was owned by, I have no idea. All I knew is that I was in it, therefore, it was mine. Also due to my undeveloped mind, I don’t recall if I even enjoyed being in Florida. This is the issue with being a child: you barely remember a thing, whether good or bad. Perhaps I had a horrific accident while in Florida and I had to have life-saving surgery? I would never know, nobody tends to tell me anything.
I had come back from Florida and was back in the good ol’ state of Illinois; where the politicians’ seats were up for sale and the football team hadn’t won big in over a decade. When I came back into my old home, I was stunned to see the environment around me. This wasn’t the house I had been living in before. What happened to my lovely abode in the sunny state? My wonderful little mind in waiting couldn’t comprehend this sudden development. I was bewildered, I was furious, but most of all, I wanted to play Super Mario. After a long day of stomping on goombas, it was time for me to go to bed. With my mother and father sleeping restlessly in the room next to me and my sibling snoring below me, I decided to take matters into my own puny hands. I crawled out of bed and onto the stairs that lead down to the floor of my old, decrepit room. I tip-toed toward the door and tossed it open as quietly as possible. I pitter pattered all the way toward the front door, which was conveniently unlocked, and turned the handle. My destiny was right in front of me. The only thing that stood between me and imminent death was my own survival skills. At age three, my survival skills weren’t all that I would have liked them to be. Thinking nothing of this, because I could barely think at all, I walked out into the cold, night air.
The next morning, my house was under fire. Not a literal fire, but a fire could have been started at some point due to all the chaos. My mother was in a panic, my father was in a panic, and worst of all, my own brother didn’t care. He simply sat there with a pacifier in his mouth and cried for his own personal gain. At some point during all of this, my mother had called my mother’s mother, also known as my grandmother, to tell her the terrible news: I was gone. My grandmother, as was typical of all amazing grandmothers, was horrified to hear the news of the disappearance of such a pure human child. For some reason, no one thought to call the police to send out a missing child report, but hey, they were in a panic. Within an hour after they had realized I had disappeared, there was a knock on the door. Who could it be? Was it I? Why would I knock on the door? My mother rushed toward the door and opened it to see the surprise of her life.
Standing on the porch outside of our trailer was our local newspaper deliverer with a young, strapping lad cradled in his arms. “Hark,” the newsman cried, “I have news to give to the Gordon household.” The newsman then took to a formal salute and presented the child to my mother. “I have found the perfect child. His stature is robust, his chin is magnificent. When I had found him on the neighboring house’s porch, he was sleeping atop a beheaded wildebeest. His hair flows majestically as if guiding the wind with its fine strands. His sleeping is silent and graceful, as though he were a nuisance to no one. His skin may be pale but his heart beats like the valiant knights of old times. To the woman who have bore him, I wish to marry, so that I may be in the presence of such an extraordinary human accomplishment for all minutes on the hour. Would you, miss, happen to know where this glorious child may originate from?”
“My child!” my mother cried. Oh, how my mother cried! The fear of having lost the greatest thing to ever come into her life was shattered in an instant. My father rushed over to share in the loving reunion, while my brother simply lay back and sleep the whole thing over. I, while still sleeping in my mother’s arms, slept soundly as if nothing ever happened. When I woke back up, I was back in my old house, and this time, I truly felt I was at home. I grew up as any kid would, and my experiences within that first home of mine was some of the greatest times I could ever recall. My family was together and still growing, I was always surrounded by the best of people, and my ego didn’t get in the way of having fun. Not once did I try to run away from home again. There was no need to, as I had the perfect upbringing, so I had no reason to do so. Everything was right in the world, and running away was too much of a hassle. After all, that wildebeest was quite the chore.