Flirting with Faith by Joan Ball

Author:Joan Ball
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Howard Books
Published: 2010-07-15T00:00:00+00:00

I wish I could get back into my four-year-old head, to know what I was thinking when I decided to run away from home. We were still in Brooklyn at the time, in a house on Colman Street about ten blocks from my grandmother’s house, where my mother grew up. None of us seems to remember what it was that set me off, but my decision was made. I was moving out. I don’t remember packing the little suitcase, although I have a snapshot recollection of carrying it up the stairs from my basement bedroom, through the dining room and living room to the front door. The suitcase was round and hard-sided, like a hatbox, with a clasp to keep it closed and a loop handle. In my memory it was huge, but it was probably made to carry doll clothes, not my wardrobe for starting a new life.

It must have been spring or summer, since I cannot remember putting on a coat. My parents let me go, finding the whole thing cute and wondering how far I would take it before I’d turn around and come back. I am sure they thought I wouldn’t make it farther than the front stoop, or maybe the corner, but they sent my older brothers, who were eight and nine at the time, to follow me.

I should add that it was the early 1970s (I was born 6/6/66, a hoot for Bible numerology buffs and fans of the movie The Omen ). In those days, kids went out to play by themselves for hours on end, until they heard a whistle or whatever call was agreed upon to mean get home now. Our parents always knew approximately where we were, but rarely exactly where we were. Even so, we were rarely on our own. These were the days when every adult you encountered was your parent. If you were acting up or being disrespectful, any adult would call you on it without fear of reprisal. They might even grab you by the shirt collar and walk you home to tell your parents what it was that you did or did not do.

In this environment, sending an eight- and nine-year-old to follow a four-year-old runaway didn’t seem as strange as it might today. Of course, I had no idea that my brothers were hiding behind a parked car and watching me when I approached the corner. I may have turned to see if my parents were watching—but maybe not. What I do know is that this tiny, freckle-faced girl with two blond pigtails and a suitcase looked both ways, as she had been taught, and crossed that street. Then I crossed the next one. And the next one, all the way to my grandmother’s house. Brave. Independent. Risk taker. These characteristics were there from the beginning and they punctuated my interactions with people. I didn’t need my parents. I didn’t need my brothers. I didn’t need anyone.

And yet, there was a paradox.

As the years passed and I continued to portray myself as a loner, the people around me responded in kind.

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