I was ten years old. I had a newspaper route. And I had an eight-year-old neighbor named Patrick.
Being the youngest in my family, and my mom the youngest in hers, most of my cousins on my mother’s side were twelve to twenty-three years older than me. So naturally, I looked up to them as role models.
A Role Model
My favorite cousin was Danny. Danny was wild. And he got into lots of trouble. He even did jail time – on more than one occasion. One time, he and a buddy hijacked a truck in Newark. Not only were they caught by the police, but they hijacked the wrong truck because a particular family protected the particular trucking company whose truck they hijacked. So, my Uncle Nunzio and his consiglieres met several times with the other family to negotiate a punishment that wouldn’t leave Danny permanently maimed. Instead, he ended up with a separated shoulder that healed after several months. His buddy, however, walked with a limp for the rest of his life.
Danny also stole cars. One time, he and some friends stole a car and drove to Florida. They whooped it up for two weeks until they ran out of money, got into gambling debt, and in an act of self-preservation, turned themselves in to the police. The people they owed money to also belonged to a family. So Uncle Nunzio had to fly down to Fort Lauderdale to negotiate a settlement that wouldn’t leave Danny permanently damaged.
Naturally, I, being a healthy young boy full of curiosity and wonder, wanted to be like Danny. So, at the ripe age of ten, I decided I too would run away. I would take Patrick along, and we would be a team – me being the senior partner, of course. So for several weeks, I saved all of my paper route money and bought a leather “hippy pouch.” That left me with only a pouch full of coins to last us until we got to our destination.
The Secret Plan
I carefully explained to Patrick that, first and foremost, our plans had to be TOP SECRET. Nobody else could know. Just me and Patrick.
We were to meet at the church across the street in the middle of the night - 8:45 PM, to be precise. Under the cover of darkness, we would sneak off and, navigating by the stars, hitchhike south. When we got to Fort Lauderdale, we would turn ourselves in to the police. Maybe we’d even get to spend a night in jail. Then Uncle Nunzio could fly down and rescue us. I would get a good whooping but all the kids in the entire Montclair, New Jersey school system would talk about how brave we were, and our parents would learn a lesson or two about who they’ve been messing with.
The Slip-Out
At the designated time, I kissed my mom goodnight. She asked why I wasn’t in my PJs. I told her I was going to bring out the garbage. She hugged me tight, and told me to be careful. “Maaa! I’m only going to the side of the house. C’mon!” She smiled as if she were involved in some joke I didn’t get.
I met Patrick in the stairwell leading to the basement of the church. The bag I had told my mom was garbage, was actually filled with stuff for our great adventure – a pocket knife, compass, flint-and-steel kit to start fires, a partially ripped and chocolate-stained map of Oklahoma, my “routeboy” hat, one change of socks, and a detailed list itemizing my penny collection which was wrapped in a hand towel and hidden under my bed.
I wore khaki shorts, green wool socks, hiking boots, and a clean white T-shirt. My “six-footer” - a six-foot length of rope – wrapped around my waist as a belt. My hippy pouch was secured to my six-footer with a two-half-hitches knot and hung from my left hip. I didn’t want it on my right hip because you have to be very careful. We’d be walking backward with our thumbs out, and people driving by might see the pouch and feel the irresistible urge to roll us and steal it. Not only would they get the cherished pouch, but they’d get my life savings, too.
Patrick wore a pair of full-length dungarees and a light jacket. He had a hat and gloves in his pockets. His face and hands were dirty. And he held a small brown paper bag.
Cold and Wet
A light mist drifted down upon our heads, and I started to shiver. So I put on my routeboy hat and thought about sneaking back home to grab a jacket. But, I decided to be a grown-up and tough it out. Besides, we’d soon be in Florida where it was so warm people didn’t even know what a jacket was.
Out of curiosity, I asked Patrick, “What’s in the bag?” He replied, “Peanut butter and jelly and some cookies my mom baked for us.”
Spook: “WAIT!!! WHAT? You told your mom we’re running away? I told you to keep it secret!”
Patrick: “I did. I told her it was a secret.”
Spook: “Doh! What did she say?”
Patrick: “She put up a tent for us in the backyard. And she said she’ll bring us scrambled eggs in the morning.”
Spook: “Really? With bacon?”
Patrick: “Yes. And English Muffins.”
Spook: “Really? We’re gonna be extra hungry, you know. … What kind of cookies did she bake?”
Patrick: “Chocolate Chip. Can we eat one now?”
Spook: “We’d better get settled in that tent first.”
And so, as it turned out, we never got more than a block away from home, and the kids at school never found out how brave we were. But we sure showed our moms what we were made of.
- Keep the Flame Alive!