12. Running Away

Today is 28 days from the first anniversary of Dad’s passing. I’ve committed to writing 40 stories about him as that day approaches. Forty Steady Stories.

This will start and sound like a story about me, but it’s really about Dad.

When I was about 11 years old, one Saturday I was playing with a few neighborhood friends down the street at an older kid’s house. I don’t remember what happened except that he said something that hurt me. He was my friend and it hurt. I went around the corner of the house and hid in the bushes, and I hid so well that they couldn’t find me. They gave up, and he went inside while the other kids went home. 

I went home and hid in the bushes in my own yard. I can’t tell you why. That kid came to look for me, but I stayed hidden. I wasn’t mad at him, and things with Mom and Dad were fine, but I liked the fact that I was hidden from that kid after he said whatever upset me. 

I can’t explain why I did what I did next except to possibly attribute it to pre-adolescent angst, but I decided to run away. Perhaps it was to punish that kid when everyone realized I was gone and would blame him, but that’s not really the point of this story anyway.

I walked off up our street, turned on Ferncliff Road, then left on Lacie Lane, and finally across Runnymede Road to A.G. Middle School. I spent a couple of hours there around the football field and the track just piddling and pacing not even sure why I was doing what I was doing.

Then I saw my dad’s car pull in the parking lot when I was at the far goalpost. Again, I can’t really tell you why, but I ran quickly to some bushes and hid again. Peering through the bushes, I saw Dad park his car, get out and look all around. Then he called out my name several times. “CHIIIPPP!” 

Other people started looking at him, but no one said anything. And I didn’t answer. Forty-five years later I still can’t figure out why I was still hiding. Dad hadn’t done anything to deserve me doing that to him. Maybe it was just so I could tell the rest of this story to y’all.

After a few minutes, Dad got back in his car and sped off; I’m sure to go look somewhere else for me. All I remember thinking was, “Why am I still hiding right now?”

By this time, I’d been hiding and gone for at least three hours since first jumping in the bushes at my friend’s house. And stayed gone for another 2 hours or so walking around A.G. and then Selwyn Elementary. Finally, I decided to head home before dark.

As I walked back the same route and turned on our street, I saw a bunch of cars parked in front of our house. I thought, “Uh oh.” I walked to Clarendon Rd., turned the corner there and then walked up our driveway. As I passed the toolshed door and turned toward the back porch, I was stunned. Our porch had a big sliding glass door about 7 feet wide. I saw a bunch of adults in that room with somber faces. They looked like they were crying. Some looked like they were praying. I saw my friend from down the street with a truly sad face. I don’t know how long they’d all been there, but I knew I’d been gone for at least 6 hours.

I put my head down, walked up the steps of the porch straight toward that glass door. No one said a word.

I turned 90 degrees to the right and went in the main back door which opened into the kitchen next to the den where everyone was. I don’t remember hearing a single sound even when I opened the door. I think everyone was just in shock.

I closed the kitchen door, and my dad came flying around the opening from the den to the kitchen. I didn’t know what to expect. I was pretty sure that I was in for the spanking of my life. I certainly deserved to be punished for what I’d put everyone through that day.

But the strangest thing happened…

My dad ran to me. 

He picked me up in his arms and held me so tight. All he said was, “Chip, I love you so much,” as he fought back tears.

I don’t remember anything else about that day after that. I don’t know if he went back into the den and told people they could go home. I don’t even remember what my parents said to me about that whole incident.

The memory that has lingered in my heart and head and stood the test of time is the difference between what I expected from my dad and what happened. I was expecting a lot of anger – justified anger, but all Dad cared about in that moment is that I was home.

I told you this story was about my dad. 

He was my hero that day. He still is.