Ward Poag 1932 Nashville, Tennessee Running Away

I will never forget this. When we lived on Boscobel Street in Nashville, I was a five year old having trouble having his way with his Momma.

Being a tough and smart kid, I figured out a way to handle her. I told her I was going to run away from home.

She seemed to think that was just fine. She packed a little suitcase and put a couple of sandwiches in a paper bag, then handed me the suitcase and paper bag and marched me out the front door, out to the gate, and pushed me out onto the sidewalk. She said, "I'm sorry you don't like living here anymore, but if you have to go, now's the time to do it. I don't know where you're going to sleep, come dark."

"I hope you find some nice people you like who will like you and take good care of you. Goodbye."

While she was saying those things, she was trying to head me down the street to God only knows where.

I wasn't scared, I was terrified. I started crying like a stuck hog. And right then, my feet grew roots in that sidewalk. Momma couldn't have drug me off of that spot with a team of wild horses.

Suddenly I realized I wasn't in that big a hurry to leave after all. I begged. I cried. I pleaded. I thought she would never change her mind. Finally she relented and agreed to let me stay, if I promised never to mention running away from home again. And, Karen, that is a promise I've kept to this day.