When I was four my mother left me outside

The supermarket

While she shopped.

I wandered off but she found me.

When Karl was eight he sailed Lake Michigan alone

Until night fell.

When my daughter was six

She walked a mile through the woods to the

School bus stop

Stopping to look at interesting rocks.

When I was seven I trudged to

A luncheonette four blocks from my school

And ate a scrambled egg sandwich.

When my son was twelve

He disappeared for hours

Home for dinner.

When my daughter was two I drove to California in a VW bus

Without a car seat or seat belt.

Sometimes she sat on my lap and helped steer.

I don’t know if I am horrified

And amazed we survived

Or sorry.