A short story I learned last night:
Like many small children, my great-grandmother Rona once decided to run away from home. I sort of think it could have been over a grave injustice (such as putting away her toys) imposed by her mother (who was almost obsessive about house-cleaning), but this information has unfortunately been lost to the sands of time. Her runaway attempt was more successful than some, in that she actually made it out the front door without being foiled by her mother or anyone else.
This was where she ran into trouble.
When her father came home from work, he saw her standing forlornly on the street corner near the house. “What are you doing?” he asked.
“I’m running away from home.”
“Then why are you still here?”
“I’m not allowed to cross the street.”