Busted

When I was quite young, we lived in a tiny apartment in the basement of a house that was occupied by my grandparents and two unmarried aunts.  It was a temporary stop while my parents saved for a down payment on a house of their own, which they eventually did, but we lived there about four years.

One time when I could not have been more than three years old, I got myself grounded.  I don't remember what I did, but I had been bad, and my mother forbade me to go outside and play, something I evidently wanted very much to do.

I asked my mother if I could at least go upstairs and see Grandma, and she said I could.  So I went up the back stairs that led to Grandma's kitchen and without so much as a pause, kept right on walking straight through the house to her front door.  Grandma asked me what I was doing, and I replied airily that I was going outside to play.  She asked me if I was sure that it was all right for me to do that, and I assured her it was.

I proceeded down the front steps and over to the house next door where I joined my neighbor Billy and another friend from down the block, Clifford, who were playing on Billy's porch and front steps.  I don't know what we were doing, but during the course of our activities, I fell down the steps and cracked my head on the concrete sidewalk.  I immediately set to bawling my head off.

There happened to be two women walking by just then who witnessed the incident.  "You poor little thing!" they said, and one of them picked me up in her arms and tried to soothe me with caresses and there-theres.  "Where does she live?" she asked the boys.  They pointed to the next house, and the woman said, "It's all right, honey -- we'll take you home."  Then I really started wailing.  "NO!  NO!" I cried.  "Don't take me home!"

But they did.  I don't remember what my mother did or said.  I suspect she figured the bump on the head was punishment enough.  And I learned my lesson.  I'm sure I've never done anything devious since.