A Fine Thing Too

{Prompt: As a child, did you have a special clubhouse? Hiding place? Fort?}

When I was five or six, I ran away from home. I remember it fondly… the parts that I do remember. After all, it was many years ago. I ran away from home, but I wasn’t angry. I think I was just ready to try out life on the road. I think I wanted to be a hobo.

Of course I told my mother I was running away. I needed her to help me pack my hobo-bag, a colorful bag on the end of a jaunty stick.

Or maybe it was just a lunch box.

Or a paper bag.

She must have included a few snacks (possibly some Fig Newtons or a peanut butter and jelly sandwich).

Maybe I had a comic book or a children’s book.

Or something to play with.

The contents of my hobo gear have been forgotten.

I’ve also forgotten whether I asked my mom for a ride. It seems like I walked, up and out of my neighborhood — up to Johnson’s Pharmacy, and left onto Fairview, then four blocks down to Hayes Barton United Methodist Church.

But that can’t be true, can it? Surely my mother wouldn’t have let me walk down those busy roads without supervision!

Still… I remember it that way.

On the other hand… maybe that was only my plan, because I knew the way by heart. We went that way every Sunday.

Maybe my mother offered to give me a lift to make the start of my hobo life a little smoother. That seems more likely. She probably dropped me off at the church parking lot.

I was planning to spend the night in the playground. I holed up inside of a big playground tunnel, made from a big cement drainage pipe.

It was designed for crawling through (about 3 feet long) or climbing on top of (about 3 feet high). I crawled inside and lay against the curved wall of the tunnel while propping my feet up on the other side.

It was a cozy little hideaway with a view of the fence-enclosed, wood-chip laden playground on either side.

I probably ate my Fig Newtons first.

Maybe I spent a little time on the swings.

Then I had my PB&J. (Or maybe I had some grapes.)

I might have done some thinking.

I was there for a few hours.

As the sky grew darker, the playground grew a little cooler, and I started to reconsider the vagabond life that seemed so carefree earlier in the day.

I think that’s about when I was bailed out of my life on the road. My Mom or my Dad showed up, as if they were just wandering by.

They asked me how I was doing. Maybe they asked if I wanted to stay. Maybe they asked if I wanted to go.

Whatever was said has been lost to history. What went without saying is what I could feel: “We love you, and we want you back.”

Over the years, my brother and I left the comfort of our house for various reasons.

My father built a treehouse for Mike and me (and the “treehouse club”). You had to be able to climb to become a member.

And a password was required for admission.

We squirreled away for an hour or two between lunch and dinner. We always came in when we were hungry.

We built forts out of sticks and twine, and tried living on the ground sometimes. Our little huts were usually flimsy and weak.

Once, we carved a little cave out of the limestone behind the A&P grocery, down at Glenwood Village. We were advancing our building and problem-solving skills.

Still, we headed for home when the sun went down. We were usually getting hungry by then.

When we joined the scouts, we learned to pitch a tent, connecting aluminum poles, driving stakes into the hard clay of the Piedmont, and erecting a nylon monstrosity.

We would spend the night… in the great outdoors… rain or shine.

We learned to pack useful items like sleeping bags and mats, clothing and rain gear. We learned to anticipate threats, like sunburn and poison ivy. We learned to read a map, to navigate, and most importantly, to communicate.

But for every outing, the best part… always… was the drive home, the return to comfort and coziness.

All this reminds me of a book, called Klippity Klop, by Ed Emberley, a book that might even have inspired my life of adventure. I could have easily taken it with me on my first outing.

It is a picture book of the adventures of Prince Krispin and his trusty steed, Dumpling, as they travel across varying terrains.

He goes off to fight a dragon, and then, as the book unfolds, Prince Krispin finds his way back to his castle and his comfortable bed.

He concludes that, “Going adventuring is a fine thing… But staying at home, that’s a fine thing too.”

Whether I ran away from home…

climbed up into a treehouse…

or tried to sleep in the great outdoors…

The best part has always been having a home…

a dinner…

a family…

and a bed.

Prince Krispin and Dumpling—heading off on their adventure.

Addendum: After reading this story, my mother revealed that when she heard of my plans to embrace the life of a hobo, she hastily contacted (using landline phones) other mothers, neighbors, and church staff on my route, and asked them to call her when they saw me passing by. She was keeping tabs on me the whole time but never said a word.