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I was 4 years old when I first ran away from home.
As so often happened, my mother and I had been in a fight. Honestly, I don’t remember what it was about. Probably her telling me I wasn’t doing something she wanted me to do.
I took my lunchbox and put some things and marched off down the road.
We lived on a dead end street. I got to the end and realized my problem.
I was not allowed to cross the street on my own. There was no way to go that didn’t involve me crossing the street.
I sat down and cried over this problem.
Eventually I decided I had no option and returned home.
No one had noticed I had left…