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You can’t choose new parents

One of the many times I tried running away was the first – if not the most hilarious – time in my life. Well, hilarious when I was older.

I was probably about 6 years old. My grandmother would babysit my younger brother and I while my mother went to work. I absolutely hated it there. She was mean, and made disgusting, inedible oatmeal.

So I decided that had to change. One day I took my little brother by the hand and crossed the street. In full traffic. I don’t know how I did it, but I ended up at a neighbor’s house. Out came a family. I explained that I wanted them to adopt us and be our new family. Grandma wasn’t cutting it.

Oh, they pretended to agree at first. Then they said,”Let’s just wait until your mother comes home, and ask her.” I didn’t want to, but had to give in. I really wanted them to adopt us. Eventually, my mother returned and they told her everything. She was horrified at me crossing the street. I was busted.

A couple of years later, when my parents divorced and my mother became an alcoholic, I tried telling school counselors about it. They sent social workers to our house twice. However, my mother blackmailed me into lying. She said if I didn’t lie, they would take me away and put me into a foster home, and I’d never see her again. After all, it was probably true. The foster care system is horrible, and children go on to be abused by their adoptive parents as well.

Now I always remember this story. The lesson is: You can’t choose new parents.

EDIT: Here is a pic I found of her. She’s in the back.



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