Blogging My Autobiography - Chapter 2

Sometimes, for a child, disappearing is very desirable. At least for me it was. There was always a fair amount of emotion floating around the house, given my mother’s erratic nature and my father’s need to control that behavior. From the first, their relationship was contentious and continued to be so their entire lives. I remember people saying to me at a young age, “Your parent’s are like oil and water, they must somehow balance each other.” Looking back, they didn’t balance so well and me being the oldest many times got caught in the middle. It is no wonder I wanted to disappear. One night, I did.

My mother worked a late shift at the ice cream store near our home so my father had us kids for the night. He sent us to bed around 7 at night. I slept in the basement so, in my bare feet and pajamas, walked down into the basement and climbed into bed. Another normal night. What motivated me from here on out, is unclear, but I went back upstairs after a little while and determined that my father would be angry with me if he found me. He was often angry and I really wanted no part of it so I disappeared. I hid, as far as I can remember, behind a swinging door that led into the kitchen and stayed there. Evidently, my father heard something and went to check on us. My brothers were in bed but I was missing. He started looking for me, calling my name. Of course, this made me want to be even more unnoticed, so I endeavored to make myself small behind the door. My bare feet, which were always big, stuck out from under the door. I worried that people would find me if they could see my toes, so I turned my feet out so they couldn’t be seen.

By this time my father was getting pretty worried and one of his friends from England, where he served his mission, came over and they started looking. Pretty soon it escalated to the neighborhood and the policeman who lived next door. All told, maybe 20-30 people were looking for me at the peak. 3 hours had passed and it was 10 o’clock. It was decided that everyone would kneel down in my parent’s living room and pray for my return. They knelt, prayed and my father’s friend said, “I know where he is.” He walked over to the door, pulled it away from the wall, and pulled me into the living room.

There were of course a million questions. I sat on the couch with all these adults in front of me asking me where I was all this time. I told them, “Behind the door.” The English friend said that was impossible, he had looked behind that door half a dozen times and I was never there. It was the only answer I had. To this day, if I was somewhere else, I don’t remember it.

I wonder what happens to kids who live in emotionally charged households these days. Do they just want to disappear like I did? How does a child disappear and not leave their home? For me, I just willed it so and no one could find me. Even if I was in plain sight.