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I Ran Away From Home

I was the rural 90s Ireland version of Michael Bluth when I was a child. I never uttered his famous words "I'm done with this family" but, during my childhood, I walked out of the homestead with no intention of returning more times than I care to remember.

Kids can be cruel to each other but sibling cruelty transcends to another level. My two older siblings were both born in Spring but I was born in Autumn. I kicked with my left foot. I had an outie bellybutton. When the fourth and fifth children arrived and conformed closer to the first two, the case for me being adopted began to grow legs.

I often threatened to run away, and sometimes I went through with it. This usually entailed walking to the head of the road, by which point the fresh country air and the endless angry mutterings under my breath had cooled me off sufficiently. I'd return to the house ready for a full round of apologies and some special treatment. Mostly no one even realized I was gone.

When I …

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