I have two anecdotes to share regarding a child who ran away from home. The child is me; I did not run; and I can back in less than a day. Boring? Sure. And I am glad.
I think both times the cause of me running away was I had an argument with my mother. She wanted me to do something and I did not want to do whatever it was.
The first time I left was when I was a pre-teen. I went over to the house of my friend, Jeff, who lived just down the road. I am sure his mother called my mother soon after. Jeff, his brother, and parents cooked hot dogs that evening in their yard. I remember Jeff’s mom singing ‘Polly Wally Doodle’ to me to make me feel special. I stayed the night. I remember waking up and crying and Jeff’s mom letting me know it was OK. I went back home the next morning.
The second time I was in my early teens. My uncle was in town for an event at the West Denmark Hall. I had an argument with my mother about something. Instead of attending the event, I started walking down Highway N, west toward the town of Cushing. About three miles into the walk, I realized I had no long-term plan and the sun would be down soon. So I turned around. When I got back to my parent’s yard, my uncle was there to greet me with a stern look. I don’t remember what happened after that. I think my mom was just glad to know where I was.
I do have another tale to tell about leaving home one summer in the late 1970s for a week after having a disagreement with my parents. It involved a solo car trip to California and is a lot more interesting than the previous two anecdotes. But I wouldn’t call it running away as much as ‘exploring my independence’!