Kid For Sale - Cheap

I remember being afraid when I was a child that my parents would put me up for adoption. There must have been a law against this, otherwise my parents surely would have thought of it. Children certainly are a lot of fuss and bother, and I was no exception. As I work my way through my mom's diaries, I'm sending silent sorry-about-thats heavenward to my parents, especially to my mother. She was the one who was stuck with me most of the time.


In just a few days worth of diary entries the three-year old me has surprised my mom with crayons in the teakettle, messed with the washing machine causing water to overflow all over the garage, and spilled an entire glass of juice in the bed.


Prior to this, I went through a long spell of "running off," as my mother puts it. I ran off to visit neighbors before my parents got out of bed in the morning. I ran off and stole a neighbor's toy tractor and rode it a couple of blocks from home. I ran off from my mother while we were traveling by rail, and made a beeline for the men's room because she couldn't follow me in there. I remember being told about this story, with a few more details than the diary contains. She waited outside for awhile, and finally asked a man to go in after me. He dragged me out and explained that I was scampering from toilet to toilet, flushing like mad, happy as a clam.


Department stores were a land of enchantment for me. I would run off and hide in the middle of circular clothing racks, or crawl into the storage areas beneath display counters. I loved to close myself up in those tri-fold full-length mirrors so I could spend time with legions of Little Billys.


The icing on the cake was when I escaped from her in a multi-floor department store in downtown Norfolk. She hunted from floor to floor, even the mezzanine, but could not find me. Becoming alarmed when she remembered my fascination with the revolving doors, she dashed outside. What if I had been hit by a bus in downtown traffic?


There was a little crowd on the sidewalk, but they weren't looking down the street for a bus. They were looking back at the department store display window, and they were laughing their heads off. Sure enough, when my mother turned to the window, there I was. I was having the time of my life, unwrapping display gifts in the window.


My mother bought me a little harness and a leash. She had seen other children wearing these, and she had viewed their mothers with disapproval. Suddenly, however, she understood the wisdom of these women. With me on a tether, she could sally forth without breaking out in a cold sweat. If I became grumpy or whiny because of my restricted range, she had a secret weapon. Knowing that a mother waling the daylights out of a child could raise eyebrows, she would disguise a sharp pinch as a comforting hand, and adults would look at the sweet, frail mother of a monster child with sympathy.


One cold winter evening I decided to play my trump card. Things weren't going my way at the supper table, and I announced that I would run away from home. My mother was out of the kitchen in a flash. She suddenly reappeared with my coat and a tiny suitcase. Before I knew what was happening, I was bundled up, kissed good-bye, and whisked out the back door. I may have been told "Good luck!" or "Don't forget to write!" but I don't recall. I do remember that the brick step was very cold on my little behind, and my tears of frustration tasted bitter.


My mother had won another round.