Tuesday, November 18, 2008

The Runaway

My children run away all of the time. They aren't mad, they just want to run away. I let them. One of them will come to me with a packed bag and announce, I'm running away now.

Okay, I respond. This gives me the chance to parent, Make sure you do not cross any streets, or, in this case, you have to wear shoes.

She chose my shoes. She didn't get far.


I understand this game. When I was young, even though I hail from a loving family, my favorite game was Orphan. Mom wouldn't let us eat most of the vegetables out of the garden, but we could have onions or rhubarb. This just added to my game.

Oh, I am so hungry. **Hold belly and groan**

I have no family and I am all alone. What shall I do? **Sigh piteously and wander like a drunken man around the back yard.**

Rhubarb! Alas, I will not die! **Chews the sour stick with the gratitude of a starving child.**

At this point, I would make up a song--a really sad song. I would wail out my woes, not in a blues sort of way, but in an Annie sort of way:

I'm still very dramatic. It is obvious that my children are, in fact, mine.

1 comment:

  1. Dramatic--yes. But not 'drama queen' drama. My favorite, --and I think you should write about this sometime-- were the opera's we used to stage at the drop of a hat. I still can get a good belly laugh all by myself when I think of them.

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