Defiant Obedience

Soon after moving into the house my parents built in Fresno, California, I got mad and informed my mother that I hated her and was running away. She didn't believe me until she saw me walk out the front door with my tennis shoes and backpack on, open the garage door, hop on my red bicycle and peddle down the street. I was 9 years old and determined not to live in a house full of brothers anymore. My Aunt Darlene had girls for me to play with so I was going to live with her. I was going to have a sister one way or another and she had a pool.

Blissfully, in my 9 year old indignation, I did not realize how terrified my mother was. She didn't have a car to go after me and was babysitting other children that day. From what I've been told, she frantically called my dad at work because she didn't know what to do. 

Meanwhile, I had arrived at the first busy street and the sidewalk had ended. I wasn't allowed to ride my bike in the street. I was faced with a mild dilemma. And then I started to notice that the cars were much bigger than me and my little red bike. They had bigger tires, too. Did this mean that 8 miles on a little red bike was a longer distance than in a car? I knew how to get to Aunt Darlene's; you just went down Ashlan Ave over the big overpass that crossed Highway 99 and eventually turned left and then right. It was not difficult. But, there was no sidewalk and I was small. 

After sitting on my bike for about 15 minutes, pondering my own personal Relativity Theory dilemma, I decided to go back home. I turned my bike around, peddled back to my house, put my bike away, and walked inside to my room. I put my clothes away and laid down on my bed to read a book. My mom informed me that I was in a lot of trouble and that I had hurt her feelings by telling her I hated her. I ignored her. (Being sent to our rooms was never a punishment in our family since most of us loved being left alone to read a book.) When my dad got home, we had a discussion.

The next time I told my mom I hated her, she calmly informed me that it was okay for me to hate her because she loved me anyway. I still attempted to leave home a few times after that, especially the year after we moved back to Texas. We had family friends who offered to let me come back to Fresno and live with them, but my dad said that if I as going anywhere it would be boarding school in New Hampshire or over his dead body. There was a lot of yelling and non-communication between my parents and I the year I was 15. Eventually I did leave when I was 18 and went to college 2,000 miles away.

Thanks, Mom, for loving me anyway.

Happy Mother's Day!