No Place Like Home -- Karen Wight

One of my favorite stories to tell about our son Breck is the time he

tried to run away. I can’t remember the incident that led up to his

monumental decision, but I’m sure it had something to do with the fact

that I’m unfair and his sisters were driving him crazy.

Breck was 9, and had apparently experienced a particularly bad day.

The good and bad news about having a frustrating day when you’re 9 years

old is that you can try to use these circumstances to leverage something

that you might not usually get, like sympathy.

In our family, when the frustration level really gets out of control

and the maternal unit does not respond in the desired manner, threatening

to run away is one of the most dramatic options you can exercise.

Unfortunately, when you are not the first child in the family to use this

option, the impact is not very great. In fact, the impact level is

nonexistent.

Now as parents, we all know what our children’s comfort zones for

dangerous behaviors are. Unfortunately for Breck, this mother knew that

his predisposition for edginess is exactly zero. So, as young Master

Breck threatens to run away, the maternal unit does not respond with the

appropriate level of angst and dismay. The young master has no other

option but to make good on the threat.

I went back to fixing dinner, folding clothes and other various and

sundry chores.

The doorbell rings. One of the neighborhood kids wants to know if

Breck can play. I respond that no, he cannot play because he has run away

and is not coming back.

You should have seen the look on this boy’s face. “Aren’t you

worried?” he asked.

I replied, “No, I’m not worried, but if you’re concerned, then you can

go look for him.”

Off goes the friend to rescue Breck from a cold-hearted mother. I

actually did think that Breck had left the house. I figured he had gone

to a neighbor to tell his tale of woe and receive a fair amount of

attention.

That concept worked for me. He was cooling off, and I didn’t have to

argue with him. I believed we were in the middle of a win-win situation.

After 45 minutes into Breck’s Great Escape, he comes walking into the

kitchen. He’s not wearing the shoes he had on an hour before, just socks

-- which did not look very dirty, always a suspicious sign.

He looks me straight in the eye and says “What kind of mother are you

anyway? You don’t leave the house to look for me; you don’t make any

phone calls to ask people where I am; and when the kids came to the door

and asked for me, you told them I was gone and it was their job to find

me.”

Breck had “run away” to the living room and hidden behind a sofa to

watch the drama unfold. Unfortunately for him, a drama never unfolded. He

was so disappointed that he had failed to ruffle any of my feathers, I

almost felt sorry for him.

“What kind of mother am I?” I asked back. “One that knows her son is

smarter than to do anything really dumb. Go out and tell the kids in the

neighborhood to stop looking for you.”

Breck never ran away again, it clearly was not worth the effort. We

have told the story so many times and laughed so hard that the next child

in line never thought it was worth her trouble to try and run away from a

home that didn’t look for its wayward children.

I however, think the concept of running away is very valuable. In

fact, as you read this, I myself have run away for the weekend.

It’s fun to run away and it’s fun to come back. After all, there’s no

place like home.

* KAREN WIGHT is a Newport Beach resident. Her column runs Sundays.