When I was a kid we frequently visited friends of my parents who have two sons, Torkjel is a couple of years older than me, Åsmund a couple of years younger. One summer (I might have been nine or ten), we kids managed to get into some sort of argument, and it was Torkjel and me against Åsmund. Now, naturally, it was all Åsmund’s fault (*grin*), but the grown-ups sided with him. This, we felt, was fundamentally unfair. Moreover, it was so typical. The grown-ups always sided with the youngest, no matter how much everything was their fault to start with. We concluded that there really was no hope and our only solution was to run away from home. We announced our decision to Guri (T and Å’s mother) in the kitchen. She said, quite calmly, that that was quite all right as long as we were back in time for dinner at about four.
I wouldn’t have said that either of us were (or are) particularly slow at catching logical flaws. However, at the time we agreed that this was a reasonable request and set out quite happily to spend a lovely day climbing big rocks and having conversations along the lines of “What if I fell down here and broke my leg – I’d end up in the hospital and they would all be REALLY sorry and bring me lots of gifts…”
And that is the only time I can remember even contemplating running away from home – I suppose this means I had a pretty happy childhood.
I’m off to Stryn. I hope. I’ll probably not be online again until Sunday night.
Music in my head: some jingle from a comercial (and it doesn’t even have any words…)