Have you ever run away from home?

I was 51 and spent a couple nights at my office.

Yes I was nine and I ran away to my grandmothers house, then shortly later my mom came and picked me up.

Yes! And it’s a long and veeeeeeeeery interesting story:

A year ago I met a friend who had a lot of money. He was very nice to me: he took me to the best restaurant, he let me buy expensive clothes, he took me to great amusing park… and he always paid the bills! Three months ago he told me that I could be as rich as him too. I tried to ask him why but he refused to tell me. He said that he would let me into the secret if I agreed to run away with him and never look back to my family.

I immediately agreed and when I went home, I put all my belongings into my suitcase and waited for midnight, when my family was asleep. I silently got out of the house and ran to my friend’s meeting place. He was very happy to see me and he brought me into a car, but not before blindfolding me. When he put out the blindfold, I was inside a big elegant room. There were a kind fat man and several friendly men of several age range. The fat man gave me a long to-do list and told me to finish the list, anytime I wanted. When I finished the list, I would “become one of him”. He also told me not to tell anyone about this place and not to return to my home again, as this place would be my new home. And while I did my to-do list, he would make sure no one would harm me, by sending my friend or one of the friendly men to watch over me.

The to-do list contained a lot of things, some were pretty difficult, but I tried to finish it. I wanted to join the fat man, to be with my friend everyday, and to get as much money as I wanted. My friend always aided me whenever I needed help. Finally, I finished the list. It was a few days ago. The fat man congratulated me and said he was very proud of me. That night, he threw a very big party dedicated specially for me, at the same room where we first met. They prepared a beautiful picture of a saint on the table. My friend pinned my finger until blood oozed out and I put the finger onto the picture. Then two men burned it. The fat man told me that was a traditional ceremony, marking my birth into his family. From now on I was one of him, part of the kind family.

And that’s how I became A MAFIOSO!

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
OH, SHIT! Were you serious?

@Jonesn4burgers Disclaimer: story written to conform with avatar :D

Hope @GloPro won’t flag my answer :P

Social questions get no flags from me, ever.

I have been told that when I was about four, I got into a huff with my mom. She said I declared that I was going to run away from home. She told me go ahead, and I stomped out of the room. A few minutes later she too left the room, and found me sitting on one of those little braided rugs, right in fromt of the door, blocking the door. She said to me, “I thought you were going to run away from home.” I responded, “I am, as soon as I can get this stupid flying carpet to work.”

Never, I was too chicken. My kids never did either. If they ever threatened it, I told them I would help them pack. Reverse psychology. It worked so well, that my kids didn’t leave until they were almost 30. I still have one at home. Ha-ha!

@Jonesn4burgers Go! Aladin! Go!

When I was 17, I got incredibly stoned with a friend of mine. I missed curfew for going home so I decided that running away to California was the best thing to do. I spent two days getting really high and sitting in some random guy’s basement. After the weed ran out, I was sober enough to realize what a stupid idea it was to run away just because I was half an hour late for curfew. I went home and got in huge trouble.

I was about 10, but the story starts years before I was born.
My Mom’s mother died in childbirth, and her father left her in the care of his mother, and he became a railroad hobo for the next 50 years. My Mom rarely heard from him, but did see him when he was in town, or when he was trying to get his life together again.
When I was 10, I just had the urge to move on. I wasn’t being abused or anything. I just wanted to start my life. I put a few of my clothes in a bag, and started making a sandwich for the road, and my Mom asked me what I was doing. When I told her, she was hurt, obviously because of her father, and she told me I was not to take any of her food if I didn’t want to live there. She slapped me, and made me unpack my stuff.
Which was fine, since I really had no where to go. I don’t feel my attempt to run away was half hearted, I had every intention of doing it.

Not really.
I left for a few hours once when I was 12 or so. I loaded up my backpack with stuff and went away. My dad found me on the street while driving and picked me up. It was really stupid.
A couple days after I graduated high school, I loaded a duffle bag with clothes and took the T up to my aunt’s place and lived there until I went to school. I told my parents I was leaving and they sort of knew I was planning on doing it anyway. I’ve lived with my aunt since then.

I was probably 7 or 8 and my parents were going to take my dog to the pound. I don’t remember why, I think he was an escape artist. I took the dog and ran away. I spent all day asking random people if they wanted a dog. I told them that he would die in the pound and that I wouldn’t go home until I found him a home. Finally a nice couple agreed to take him. When I got home that night without the dog my parents couldn’t be to mad.

@Judi Wow, that’s touching.

My father was physically abusive to my mom and sister and my mother was mentally abusive to all those around her. Unfortunately, we lived in the sticks, and every time I thought I was going to run away, I was tuckered out before I got anywhere, and it was a huge slog just to get back home.

During the summers is was my practice to get up early, eat a bit of breakfast, pack a peanut butter sandwich of the like for lunch, and return at dinner time, or whenever I heard the huge cast iron bell in the yard ring. I’m sure no one was ever aware of my ‘running away’.

Yes. I was 16 and mad at my mother so I took off and spent a few nights in a motel. I was scared to death, it was a seedy motel in the downtown area of my city. I don’t even remember why I was so mad now, 38 years later.
I was lucky, cute little petite teenage blonde in a sleazy motel surrounded by riff raffy types. Lucky I didn’t get raped or murdered, really.

Just the once & only then very briefly, around an hour or so.
Grandad came for tea & he broke wind violently, I ran away shouting ”home is where the fart is” as I went.

When I was 14 my mother went off to basic training. It’s no secret that my father and I don’t get along.
After a few days, my father asked me to leave after having a fight. So, I didn’t technically run away but he tells everyone I did.
I stayed with my best friend for two weeks, until my father threatened to call the police.

I ran away at age 20, returned at 23, left again at 24, and haven’t been back since.

Does it count that my parents backed me in a corner when I was around 21 years old, I told them I would never get over it, and I never did? I ran from their negative influence in my life and never looked back.