I ran away from home when I was 16. Many of friends were runaways and I thought it was so cool that I wanted to run away too. I had one problem, I had really good, loving parents and had to reason to leave. Some of my friends came from difficult family situations. They didn’t want to be on the street, but life was better there than at home. I couldn’t see that part of it. All I could see was the drama of being on the street, fending for yourself and being complexly free with no rules.
For a while a wracked my brain for a reason to run away and finally it came to me. I walked in the house one day and my mom started nagging me about getting a haircut. This was not the first time she nagged me about but this time a light bulb went off in my head: “I’m going to run away so I don’t have to get a haircut.” Even my own friends were incredulous. My best friend Billy said, “I would die for parents like yours.” And I said, “You just don’t understand Bil” The truth was that I didn’t understand. I was set on creating a false narrative to justify my own fantasy. That fantasy came to an end fairly quickly. Sleeping in storefronts and on park benches is not as glamorous as it looked from a distance. But I was determined to stay out.
On my third day on the run. I was walking down the street with Timmy James, another runaway. When we approached the corner of 7thst and 5th Ave, he said “All I want for my birthday is a veal parmigiana hero.” Suddenly I heard my name in a strict stern voice “VINCENT”, It was my dad walking across the street. He was angry, very angry. To this day I imagined I saw steam coming of his ears. I was gripped with fear, what do I do? Run or stay? I hesitated and then ran. He tackled me in the middle of the street. Cars came to a screeching halt; people froze but no one interfered. He started screaming at me dragged me to the car where my mother and sister where waiting.
The next thing I remember is that I’m lying on the couch at the house dodging my dad’s fists with a pillow as he screams, “I’ll see you dead in the streets before you ruin this family.” Through the blows I could see my mom and sister, biting their hands crying “Don’t hit him anymore, don’t hit him anymore.”
That was it. Life returned to normal, and I didn’t have to get a haircut.
Some may consider my dad’s action extreme, but I look at it as tough love. Why did my dad come and find me? Why was he so furious? Because he cared. I could only imagine my mom’s worry during the 3 days I was gone. I could imagine my dad’s own responsibility. I was the one causing all the problems and I was the one who deserved punishment.
Whom the Lord loves, He disciplines.