My Little Runaway

A couple of weeks ago, on the tail of yet another one of our all-too-frequent full-blown snowstorms, my son -- over some probably winless argument of the common variety in this house -- decided that cursing at me would be a good way to put an end to our rather heated conversation. Never quite having been able to grasp that this kind of behavior is not acceptable, and despite back-to-back and overlapping punishments due to behavior of this and other kinds, I informed him that he was not losing just one, but two privileges: TV and video games (which he is only permitted to play on weekends, anyway). Unable to accept his fate, he decided to run away -- escaping from one of his bedroom windows, which happens to be adjacent to a lower roof area not terribly far from the ground, especially when one has a couple of feet of snow to cushion the fall.

Not long after being banished to his room, I heard an alarm chime, alerting me to the fact that a window had been opened. This being the dead of winter, no one in their right mind would think to open a window except, of course, Sam -- who has been known to climb out on the roof in the past, always on the heels of some emotionally-charged episode of some kind or another. This time however, he launched.

I went upstairs, and found wedged between his door handle and frame a folded piece of loose-leaf paper, upon which were written the ominous words: Read Me.

And so I read.

Hello. If your reading this then I am gone. The rules are simple; you take away my punishment or try to find me and get me in troble. See I have my phone, you can call me, but it's not as if you can triangulate my cell phone. I have money that I can use for 2-7 days. If I need a train or taxi, I can afford it. Since you gave me no pity, you get none, too. I'll clean my room and buy a new compass only if you take away 60%-100% of my punishments (except for spanish -- I can manage 1 week of no computers). Think about it like this. I run away, you call, but no priviliges are taken back, so I refuse. You come looking for me, really trying to find me and...you call me. If you don't believe me, then think about it, why did I take my time writing this? See! I'm good.

I should clarify that the Spanish he referred to was an assignment he failed to produce and as a result, lost certain privileges, and the compass was something he had smashed in a recent fit of rage.

Although he may not have spelled everything correctly, I really had to hand it to him. The kid managed not only "triangulate," but also used one mean semi-colon. It was almost a proud moment. And those arbitrary 2-7 days, and 60-100 percent of punishments! It was all I could do to not burst out laughing on the spot. I did laugh a few moments later, when I attempted to read the note aloud to my husband and daughter with a straight face. Jeff grabbed it from me, imagining that he could actually accomplish what I could not. How wrong he was.

I decided to ignore Sam's note and not call him. I knew I could count on the weather being on my side, along with the fact that he jumped into mounds of snow wearing only his sneakers, virtually guaranteeing that his socks took the brunt of the wet and cold. How far could he really get?

As it turned out, not too far; less than a mile from the house, right on the corner of Main Street. He called to see if I was moved by his bold deed. He was disappointed not only to find out that I was not, but also that I was busy and requested that he call later when he was ready to come home. That call came not too long afterward. I picked him up, and we rode home in silence.

My husband, however, turned out to be quite impressed by Sam's feat, actually requesting that he re-enact his majestic leap from the roof into the backyard to be recorded on film for posterity.

Here are the results: