a boy that lived down the street from me in Gaffney. About my age. His name was Walter Wryson. He used to run away from home all the time and come to our house. Not for any good reason. His daddy didn't beat him. He had clothes on his back. The Wrysons had way more money than we did, but run away he would, at least once a month and come straight to our place. Now, usually, my mother would call his mother and she'd come and fetch him. But about the ninth or tenth time this happened, Walter ran outside, climbed up into a tree in our backyard, and wouldn't come down for nothin'. Now, my mama said to his mama, "Why don't you let us keep him for a while, until he feels like coming home?" But man, oh, man, that boy was stubborn.
[chuckling]
Francis
[chuckling]
Francis