Despite fulfilling four out of the seven Roman Catholic sacraments and regularly attending catechism every other weekend, I’d had it. Trading an hour of Sunday mornings out of my “busy” teenage schedule for an hour of interactive sleep deprivation to me was absolute nonsense. So one day, I stood up to my parents and refused to go to church with them. Their response was pretty standard: If you don’t come, we’ll ground you, ingrate.
Incensed, I picked up an incandescent flashlight from our house's basement and duct taped it to the handlebars of my mountain bike. I also emptied my book bag and threw in a hoodie, a bottle of water, and some random snacks. I was 16 years old going on 8 and running the fuck away from the adult concepts of responsibility and filial piety.
When I bolted from our house, I wanted to get as far away as I could (an "intense" 5.2 miles into neighboring Birmingham). The weather during my self-imposed exile started like any other clear, early-autumn dusk. The air combing through my hair and the intensifying night chill kept me from overheating as I swiftly pedaled from sunset through midnight on sidewalks and strip mall parking lots.
The highlight of the ride was going to the local Farmer Jack, buying a box of Chips Ahoy cookies, eating two of them and heading home. There was no saga or great adventure to be had; I was just being a spoiled, puerile jackass. And unbeknownst to me, I was getting mine. Several other events I did not anticipate had happened or were under way.
- A couple miles into my trek, a group of kids I knew from school recognized me as I zoomed by and unsuccessfully tried to flag me down
- My parents had called most of my friends from school to keep an eye out for me
- They also called several relatives and neighbors
- They also called the local police department
And when I strolled back into our house sometime after midnight, I found myself making eye contact with a sizable group comprised of older cousins and police officers. My distressed mother and father gave me a big hug and the search party disassembled after some stern words and goodbyes. Ultimately, I may have called my parents’ bluff (they didn't actually ground me). But by the time I walked into my high school the next day, the entire student body knew that I had run away.