When I was young–let’s say four–I went for a walk around the neighborhood alone. I walked around the block and across the street and saw some other kids playing outside, so I went into their backyard. They had a swingset, something bright and plastic. Lemonade made an appearance. That’s all I remember, but I can recognize the house when I drive past it on Bretton. It was one of those bigger houses, one of those that made me most curious to know what was inside. I don’t remember going inside, but I vaguely remember a mother.
My mother flipped when I got home. I was grounded for a week. Not spanked, because when you have a toddler with wanderlust, spanking only delivers the message so far. Being grounded is the only appropriate punishment for a toddler with wanderlust.
I remember this. It was very traumatic on the other side.
Do you know how old I was? How long I was gone? I sort of remember coming home and being shocked that what I did was wrong but seeing mom all upset and having it register. I think the part that fascinates me about this memory is the realization that I could cause people to worry about me when it felt so natural to just get up and leave.
Four sounds right. I’m not sure how long you were gone, less than an hour probably.