And Down the Stretch They Come …

http://vintagetoledotv.squarespace.com/storage/Races660706s.jpg

aka, How I Ran Away from Home

The first cold night of the year, my mind jumps back to an old memory. One that makes me lol … a LOT!

When I was a child, grocery stores used promotions to bring customers in the door. One of those was called “Let’s Go To The Races.” When you bought groceries, you were given a ticket that had the race number and your horse’s number on it. On a particular night each week, during a commercial break, the races ran (from a taped race) and if your horse won, you won a prize or small amount of cash.

For a large, fairly low-income family like ours, this was pretty exciting for my brothers and sisters – there were seven of us – and me. To be fair, dad had us rotate the honor of holding the ticket.

On this particularly cold, blustery winter night, it was my turn to be the ticket holder – or so I thought. At eight or so years of age, I spoke up when the ticket was passed to one of my siblings instead of me.

The age old discussion ensued:

“Hey, it’s my turn!!”

“Nun-uh!”

“Yes-huh!”

And finally ended, as all disputes did in those days, with dad making the Solomon-like final judgement. There was no changing the ruling. In this particular case, in the Monaghan People’s Court, I was the loser.

I was, and have usually been, an optimist. But for some reason, I decided that this was the final straw. I’m not even sure that there were other straws to begin with! But, in my haste, my only choice seemed to be finding another home. One where I could hold the ticket on my rightful turn. So there Mr. Solomon, in all your wisdom! I’ll show you.

Wisely, I felt that clothes were a must. But how to carry them? We had no backpacks then. Suitcases were the parents domain. Ah!, I had a brilliant idea: Just pull the drawers out of the chest of drawers. As I began pulling them out one-by-one, fuming as the rest of the clan watched the “races,” I realized that they were pretty heavy and there were four of them.

It was snowing hard outside. In fact there was a blizzard. There were already six inches of snow on the ground. Again, another light bulb went off: We had this great seven-seater toboggan. So, off I went, drawer-by-drawer placing them on the toboggan.

I used one just like this. (sledwarehouse.com)

And drawers something like this. (donation2decor.com)

This was gonna be perfect. I had clothes, AND transportation, and I was on my way. Ready to venture into the world – at eight years old! I was free! I threw on my sneakers, grabbed the rope on the toboggan and began my journey out the garage door. As I looked back, I heard the click of the lock turning from inside on the door handle. Dad must have locked me out. Didn’t matter to me. Good riddance, family. Enjoy the “races.” Be as unjust as you want; all by yourselves.

Only one problem: As I trudged into the snow, the moisture penetrated the canvas on my shoes and the snow dampened my long sleeved shirt, I realized I had made a major miscalculation – I didn’t think about bringing a coat! Apparently dad did not overlook this error before he locked the door. Tail between my legs, I slowly made my way back into the garage. I was FREEZING cold.

When I knocked on the inside door, Solomon dad responded with a “Who is it?” As if someone coming to the inside garage door was a normal occurrence; in a blizzard, no less.

I never attempted to run away again ;). And looking back, maybe this is why I always look at what the contingencies are in every situation; to the point of sometimes over-thinking things.

My dad probably doesn’t even remember this happening. With a family as large as ours, a lot of crazy things occurred (and still do). But I certainly remember it well, and it still makes me laugh.