Tummy rumbling with hunger, I stumbled out of bed and shuffled out to the room next door. Knocking quietly on my parent’s bedroom door I waited listening for them to stir awake.
“Mommy, I am hungry. Will you make pancakes for me please?” I asked tentatively through the door. It was early Saturday morning. Honestly it was really early! I have always been an early riser, like a rooster, a speck of light in the morning sky was enough to awake me from sleep. So, in my mom’s defense what transpired next was understandable. Especially in hindsight now that I am a mother and grandmother.
“Maya, there is cereal and milk in the kitchen. Make some breakfast for yourself.” She gently answered.
I did not want cereal, I really wanted pancakes! As she suggested cereal my heart sunk. When I would sleep over at my cousin Kim’s her mommy made pancakes for her in the morning. A pang of hurt feelings hit me deep in my stomach as our exchange unfolded with the door between us. For what felt like hours (it was actually only about fifteen minutes) I begged my mom to please get out of bed and make pancakes. Cereal was not on my menu that morning, I refused to eat another bowl of Cheerios. A bold position for me to take given that I could not cook.
Warm tears began to trickle down my face as reality hit, mommy did not love me enough to make pancakes for me. My five-year-old heart was broken as I slowly walked back into my bedroom with my head hung low. Sitting on the bed as my sister slept in her twin bed across from mine, I cried while quietly contemplating what to do next. Well, if my mommy did not love me, what’s the point of staying here? My only option, run away. Brilliant right!
With confidence and new-found courage fueled by hurt feelings, looking around the room assessing what was needed on my quest, I jumped up, opened my dresser drawers, gathered pajamas, underwear, a change of clothes, and my stuffed bear from the bed. From the bathroom I grabbed my toothbrush (one must have clean teeth). After the bathroom, I marched into the kitchen and grabbed a giant brown paper grocery bag which would serve as my luggage. Back in my room, my sister wide awake by this time due to the ruckus I was creating, watched as I crammed my belongings into the bag.
“What are you doing?” Charlene inquired.
“I am running away because mommy doesn’t love me” I exclaimed with tears still filling my eyes. “She won’t make pancakes for breakfast.” Making certain that my mom could hear my declaration in the master bedroom next door.
Containing laughter, my sister followed me to the kitchen as I prepared to run away. Still in pajamas, I climbed on the counter, grabbed the bread out of the Tupperware bin and pilfered a few slices. Next, on to the refrigerator to get bologna which would accompany my dry bread. Wrapping all the ingredients in a few paper towels and tossing them in my luggage, I was confident that I had everything needed to successfully run away.
It was at that point, I realized my mom still had not opened her bedroom door, which hurt more than I expected. Didn’t it matter that her baby was running away? Now fueled by hurt and anger, I put on my shoes and a jacket, rolled closed my paper bag and made my slow dramatic departure out the back door. No more wasting time! Charlene who was following me around by that time ran back into the house to tell our parents that I was leaving home.
I took one deliberate step after another making my way to the gate leading to the back alley. Praying, oh God, please let them stop me before I get to that gate. Taking smaller steps as I approached the gate, I was astounded, still no mommy! Oh my goodness, she is going to let me really run away. Panic was setting in and I struggled to breathe through sobs as I opened the gate and made my way into the alley, heading for the desert behind our home in Western Hills on the south side of Tucson, Arizona. Refusing to look back, I plodded towards the forbidden land (my parents commanded us to stay away from the desert because we lived close to the railroad switch yard and homeless people could be camped out there). Fear enveloped my entire body. My throat tightened and my heart raced. I kept moving as slowly as possible hoping and praying that my mother would stop me.
“Maya, what are you doing?” Called out my mother who was entertained and surprised by the reality I was really running away into the desert.
“I am leaving because you don’t love me!” I exclaimed feeling relieved that she finally opened her door and came looking for me in the alley.
She encouraged me to come back home. I slowly turned around and looked into my mom’s eyes. She really did love me.
“Are you going to make pancakes for me?” I asked anxiously.
“I will make pancakes for you.” She promised.
I dropped my luggage and ran to her.
Never before in my life was I so happy to be held in my mother’s arms.