Runaway

My sister Celia told me a story yesterday about her childhood that I never heard before. I thought I'd heard them all. She was the "wild" one in the family. The one who in her teenage years, fell asleep in the back of truck and woke up in New Hampshire. The one who had the wild parties when my parents weren't home. The one who got sent to Catholic school because she was so "bad."

She really paved the way for me - for all of us siblings - (6 in total). I called her yesterday to thank her for her trail blazing. My mother had called me to say congratulations for deciding to move in with my boyfriend. Congratulations?! If this had happened 20 years ago she would have been crying, inviting priests over for dinner, bemoaning the fact that I was going to be living in sin, and surely going to hell. Now she's calling to congratulate me!? This is an awesome transformation.

So thank you Celia, for "breaking-in" my parents for me. Thank you.

So the story Celia told me is as follows. At 11 years old she and a boy friend (not her boyfriend, but a boy who was a friend) decided to run away to Mexico. He stole $50 from his dad and gave it to her. She went out and bought Levi's. (I don't really know how that part fits into the story), but, anyway, she was caught by my mother as she was running for the border.

My mom was teaching piano in the living room when she saw a suitcase swinging by a rope outside the window. My sister had was lowering her belongings to the ground as part of her escape plan. If it hadn't been for the suitcase debacle, I'm sure they would've hit Mexico by sundown.

I asked my sister if her daughter, now 8, has tried to run away yet. She has not. I was stunned! "What's wrong with her? " By the time I was her age, all of my siblings were running away on a weekly basis. I was just conforming to the norm when I stuffed my pillowcase full of possessions, grabbed a blanket and my teddy bear, and headed out into the woods.

I think this speaks a great deal to our home life growing up. We were all just trying to get away from each other - to have some sort of privacy, and to get some sort of acknowledgment from our parents that we existed and mattered.

I'm very surprised that we don't currently live in separate countries now.