D. went to a youth group event for the first time today on the other side of town. The kid that went with him said, "Don't worry, D. can come home with me. I'll take him home."
Saturday night, I hear frantic footsteps run up the stairs, and D. blasts through the front door, bursting into tears. "The kid just got in his father's car and went home. I went to to talk to the youth group counselor, and that was it. Everyone was gone!" D. said over frantically.
Seeing no other way home, D., a bookish 8 year old, took to the streets and ran as hard as he could go. He wasn't even sure if he was running in the right direction. He asked someone about the street he lived on, and saw them pointing where he was running. Along the way he saw a few familiar restaurants, and was re-assured that he was at least going in the right direction.
Despite the dismal ending, D. enjoyed his first day of youth group and wanted to go back. But next time he would wait until Daddy came to pick him up.
