Confessions of a veteran wanderer

Some of us were meant to roam. As a kid, I was always wandering off and getting into all sorts of trouble - climbing over fences, dangling from balconies. At the tender age of 3, I can remember toddling out to the end of the driveway and sticking my thumb out at passing cars. I am sure that the neighbors who saw me thought it cute and a bit ambitious. But I am here to tell you that I knew EXACTLY what I was doing. I wanted out - there was a huge world to see, and by golly I was gonna get there.

On one or two occasions, I actually made it to the main road - to the horror of my mother, who tried hard to keep me reigned in. But the minute her back was turned, I'd be out the door and down the street, engaged in another adventure. We lived in Damascus, Maryland at that time. It was an outlying suburb of DC, on the commuter rail line - a perfect location for the civil servants with jobs inside the Beltway. While that part of the state was not exactly "developed," in the 1960s, it was certainly not the safest place for a 2-3 year old to be hitch-hiking. I suspect that I am lucky to have survived the experience. I must also admit that it may have been a bit harrowing for my mother who, despite her best efforts, could not keep up. She will tell you quite frankly that I never outgrew that little trait.