When I was around two years old we moved to Michigan. One day I snuck out of the house. I walked down a block to the corner of a minorly busy intersection soon after we moved there. At that corner is a fire station. There was a candy store across the street from the fire station. I guess I crossed the street correctly- I waited for the walk sign. From what I was told there were firemen sitting outside of the station and they just watched me cross the street. I walked myself into the candy store.
I don’t know how long it took them to realize I was gone, but from how this story was told to me it wasn’t that long. My mother got a search party of their neighborhood friends together to look for me. She even called the police. Her good friend was the one who discovered that the firemen just watched me and didn’t do anything. She found me in the candy store sitting on the countertop eating ice cream.
I was lucky that I didn’t get hit by a car or snatched by a stranger. But remembering the story now, that should have been a sign to my parents that I may be a mischievous kid. Granted, I was good until high school. I joke that my adventures during high school gave my parents and I gray hair. I survived my youth and even used it to raise my own children. I used to say, “If you are going to be bad and rebel, it can’t be anything I did.” I never did tell them what I did back then. They just never tried to do anything.
It took me years of growing up and my children to get me to try to be the best me I can be. I am still tweaking the rough parts, but I can honestly say, I like myself now. I am glad that I had little growing experiences like walking to the candy store when I was two.
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