New2view's Blog   Life on The Blue Marble

This a very personal post. As a ‘very’ young person I was motivated to travel, I can’t speak to the psychological reasons.

Beginning with leaving kindergarten class I walked several blocks to my dad’s real estate office, he wasn’t present and I wasn’t even able to open the door but his partner did so to his amazement.

At an early date after that I successfully alluded detection between racks of clothes, exiting the store where mom was shopping. I boarded a Street car pretending to be with other boarding riders. Young kids got a free ride in those days.  That adventure ended when all (other) passengers had alighted at the end of the line. It was the end of the line at central station on Main street in Vancouver. With no other passengers of course I stuck out like a sore thumb to the driver!

However bemused friendly driver’s gave me an ice cream cone, as I happily awaited my distraught mother perched on the front counter of the station office. Mom had discerned what I had done and phoned the station to locate me.

Then there was the time I traveled a couple of miles on my first ‘two-wheeler’ bicycle to my dad’s office on Kingsway. That adventure did not result so favorably. Dad gave me a severe licking!

Sometime after that episode, there was a similar ‘street car escape’ heading South on Fraser Street. My intended destination was Uncle’s general store believing it to be on South Fraser. It wasn’t, but the street car driver kindly suggested it might be over on Oak, or was it Cambie Street, not sure.  So I walked many blocks  West from Fraser after exiting the street car and eventually knocked on Uncles’ residence at the rear of the store, even my slightly older cousin was very surprised, but he was much less an adventurer.

Recovering from laughing astonishment, my Uncle hastened to call my parents who may not even missed me because, unlike today, we kids were allowed to freely roam the neighborhood until late during summer months. Anyway  I recall his phone call to my dad; “guess who came to visit us today!?” Can’t recall if that ended with a spanking and/or sans supper after he came to pick me up.?

These events were all in the 1940’s, but many years later the same ‘traveler’ inclination was clearly still at work as family can attest. Perhaps its a genetic trait, only God knows.