My parents moved into their first home in 1951. The newly built bungalow was on Harvard Road in Royal Oak, just west of the old farm where the proposed William Beaumont Hospital was to be built. There were two new little bungalows, my parents' and, next door, the Yeager's. Eunice Yeager would become a life-long friend to my mother.
What I remember most is the huge yard. It was at least a mile deep (just checked, it was a quarter acre). Anyway, it was bigger than my grandmotherโs. It was while living on Harvard that I made my first non-family friends. Dee Dee lived in the big house two doors down, and my first real buddy, Tim, lived across the street.
Tim living across the street presented a bit of a difficulty, as I was not allowed to cross. My mother impressed this deeply upon me. Fortunately for me, women in the '50s stayed home, just like the mothers we saw on television. So, Mom, Eunice, and Tim's mom would visit often, giving Tim and me a chance to play.
๐๐, ๐ธ๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ฏ ๐ ๐ธ๐ณ๐ช๐ต๐ฆ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ด๐ฆ ๐ฎ๐ฆ๐ฎ๐ฐ๐ณ๐ช๐ฆ๐ด, ๐ ๐ต๐ณ๐บ ๐ต๐ฐ ๐ด๐ต๐ข๐บ ๐ฐ๐ฏ ๐ต๐ณ๐ข๐ค๐ฌ. ๐๐ฐ๐ธ๐ฆ๐ท๐ฆ๐ณ, ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฐ๐ถ๐จ๐ฉ๐ต ๐ฐ๐ง 1950๐ด ๐ต๐ฆ๐ญ๐ฆ๐ท๐ช๐ด๐ช๐ฐ๐ฏ ๐ฃ๐ณ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ๐ด ๐ช๐ต ๐ข๐ญ๐ญ ๐ฃ๐ข๐ค๐ฌ... ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ณ๐ฆ๐ฎ๐ฆ๐ฎ๐ฃ๐ณ๐ข๐ฏ๐ค๐ฆ ๐ฐ๐ง ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ธ๐ฐ๐ฎ๐ข๐ฏ ๐ฐ๐ง ๐ฎ๐บ ๐ค๐ฉ๐ช๐ญ๐ฅ๐ฉ๐ฐ๐ฐ๐ฅ ๐ฅ๐ณ๐ฆ๐ข๐ฎ๐ด. ๐๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐๐ ๐ด๐ฉ๐ฐ๐ธ ๐๐ณ๐ข๐ท๐ฆ ๐๐ข๐จ๐ญ๐ฆ, ๐๐๐ 1955, ๐ธ๐ช๐ต๐ฉ ๐๐ช๐ฎ ๐๐ช๐ฏ๐ฐ๐ฏ๐ข ๐ฑ๐ญ๐ข๐บ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ฃ๐ฆ๐ข๐ถ๐ต๐ช๐ง๐ถ๐ญ ๐๐ฏ๐ฅ๐ช๐ข๐ฏ ๐ฎ๐ข๐ช๐ฅ๐ฆ๐ฏ, ๐๐ฐ๐ณ๐ฏ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ ๐๐ต๐ข๐ณ. ๐ ๐ธ๐ข๐ด ๐ช๐ฏ ๐ญ๐ฐ๐ท๐ฆ.
Anyway, the street...
It was while living on Harvard that the confrontation took place. The problem, and what I said, are lost in time, but it was something to the effect of, "I'm going to run away!"
My mother, her ๐ฒ๐ ๐ฎ๐ฐ๐ words: "I'll pack your bags!"
So, I left (without bags).
In front of the house, my first decision: left or right. The busy 13 Mile Road was left, to the north. With determination, I headed south. I traveled far, farther than I had ever traveled in my entire five years. Twelve houses had passed, and then, there it was. Huge, red, and with absolute authority: STOP. It was a street.
Not being able to cross a street is a definitive hindrance to running away.
The memory fades at this point. I suspect my mother was actually not far behind. That night, lying in bed, I pondered my next move. My mother, in her wisdom, was unconcerned.
Our youngest son would run away on a weekly basis. We would pack up his Little Tykes cooler. He always hid across the yard behind a row of tall bushes. Eventually, he would wander back home when his cooler was empty.