Leaving home at the age of nine

Have you ever pretended to run away from home as a little kid?

I shared a song I wrote in another post I wrote called Life is Simple When Your Five, which was about a tough time in my life. My parents were fighting a lot and I was struggling to cope. This is about that same time frame.

Everything had seemed great when the 6 of us moved to Scenic Drive. It was a nice house with a great view right out into Auckland City from huge picture windows. We were a happy family.

Things quickly turned sour for no obvious reason. Behind the bedroom door, and I give them credit for that, there were almost daily muffled shouting, thuds against the wall, and the sound of my mother in tears. This happened a lot. I was nine, my brother was 3 and my sisters were around 2 years old. They didn’t seem to notice it much.

I would sometimes bang on their bedroom door and tell them to stop. This would usually result in a “Mind your own business”, or “Go to your room.”

So I had this clever idea. I would run away and leave a note. try to show them that their battles were wearing me down. I can’t remember exactly what I wrote. It was something like “I can’t take this anymore so I’m leaving home.”

Then I walked to the Titirangi shops going really slow, which amounted to about half an hour. I hung around the shops, didn’t have any money, got bored and walked home.

The door was still shut and they hadn’t even missed me! I grabbed the note and ripped it up. That was a fail.

Maybe a month later things were pretty much the same. I wanted them to take me more seriously. I needed them to realise that this was not acceptable. I wanted them to feel a bit like the parents in this Lennon and McCartney song from the Sgt Peppers Lonely Hearts Club Band album which I played to death, years later.

I grabbed my regulation kiwi leather schoolbag, and filled it with whatever clothes I could, leaving the drawers open so they would see stuff was gone. I wanted them to take me seriously.

I got some money from somewhere, I guess I pinched it from the coin jar.

I walked to the Titirangi shops, trying to work out what to do next. Then it hit me. If I caught a blue Commercial bus into town, I would be forced to be away for at least the 45 minutes it would take to get into town, plus 45 minutes back and a 20-30 minute walk from the shops. So even if I wanted to, I couldn’t get back home for at least 3 hours.

Photo courtesy of Auckland Libraries Heritage Collections JTD-10N-02407-2

I was just blowing smoke, but I hoped it would make a difference. I wanted them to feel a bit of the pain I was feeling. I wanted them to stop fighting and show some appreciation of what they were putting me through.

I was scared the bus driver would ask me where I was going on my own and had a plausible answer prepared. They were simpler days and he just took my money in his hand, tore off a ticket and clipped it, barely making eye contact.

I remember sitting there on the bus, trying to look normal, leaning against the window, my schoolbag tucked preciously under my arm. I was trying to look normal because I didn’t want anyone to be suspicious or try to make me go home.

The bus arrived in New Lynn. The driver said he had to go to the depot and fill up the diesel tank. It was an unexpected detour. Was it about me? But it couldn’t be. There were no such things as cellphones or two-way radios on buses back then.

After 5 minutes or so of gassing up, he climbed back on board. The bus slowly wound through Avondale on Great North Rd, through Waterview, Pt Chev, Western Springs, past MoTAT (the Museum of Transport and Technology), through Grey Lynn, then onto K Rd, left at Pitt Street and I alit at the bus station at the bottom of town, wondering what to do next.

Photo courtesy of Auckland Libraries Heritage Collections 895-A70981

I didn’t have a watch, so I didn’t know how long I had been away. I went for a bit of a walk, but I had no money other than what I needed to catch the bus back home. I was 9, and there was really nothing in town of interest other than Woolworths and McKenzies, the department stores with many shelves divided into slots with cheap toys like cap guns, caps, and cap rockets. But I needed my filched money to get back home.

Within maybe 45 minutes I was thinking I needed to get back home and that I had probably taught my parents a good lesson. I only had to wait about 15 minutes and found myself on a bus to Waima which stopped about 5 minutes from home. I still got off at Titirangi Shops so I had to walk the extra half an hour, dawdling, going ever slower as I neared home.

I arrived home and while they did learn something, my father’s reaction was not the one I saw coming, although I should have. He pretty lifted me in the air, holding one arm with his left hand, he was very strong, while he whacked the hell out of my backside as I swung from side to side. I wouldn’t be able to sit down for an hour or so.

My nervous reaction to getting whacked was to laugh. You have probably heard something similar from other people, or maybe experienced it yourself. My laughter just incensed my father who yelled “You think that’s funny? I’ll show you funny!” And I got some more.

At the end of the day, there were some positive results from this situation. I ended up getting respite, particularly during school holidays being sent to stay with various families for a week here and there, which was great medicine, although nothing much changed when I went home, at least for another 6 months. Until my father moved out.