Ran Away at 5

 We left the chicken farm when Dennis was just a baby. Money was tight, so Mom made him a crib out of a dresser drawer. That was just how things were back then—you made do with what you had.

The way I heard it, my Uncle Don convinced Dad that California was the place to be. So, we did what any good pioneers would do—we loaded up the car and headed west.

There was just one problem.

Dad ran out of money.

We only made it to Texas.

With no way to keep going, Mom and Dad got a motel, and we must have stayed there a while because I even started first grade. Mom made the best of it, though. Every day, she took us for walks, pulling a little wagon—probably one of our toys. Sometimes, we all piled in like we were heading to the store, and she pulled the whole load.

One of my favorite places was a little shop I called the bug store. It was only a couple of blocks away, and to me, it was the most amazing place on earth. The store was packed with shelves full of aquariums, and inside those tanks? Every bug you could imagine. Spiders, beetles, scorpions—you name it, they had it. I could’ve spent hours just staring at all those creepy crawlies.

On my birthday, I got a bicycle with training wheels. The motel had an in-driveway and an out-driveway, and with the sidewalk, it made a perfect little loop. That was my territory—nowhere else.

But eventually, that got boring.

So, I did what any curious kid would do. I rode off to the bug store.

I don’t know how long I was there—time flies when you’re mesmerized by insects. Then suddenly, I heard my name.

"Larry! LARRY!"

That’s when I realized I was in trouble.

I ran outside, grabbed my bicycle, and bolted. But where do you go when you're a kid on the run? I chose the best hiding spot I could think of—behind the bug store.

I peeked out as the car drove by, my name still being called. But I wasn’t ready to face the music just yet. So, I just sat there, waiting, thinking.

Eventually, they came back around, still searching. That’s when I finally gave up and turned myself in.

The funny thing is, I don’t remember getting punished. Maybe they were just relieved to find me.

Or maybe they figured hiding behind a bug store was punishment enough.

Would you love to hear more of these childhood misadventures?