By Charlotte Hilton Andersen, REDBOOK

Five years old and wandering the streets of inner-city Chicago: No, I wasn't a latchkey kid looking for mischief. I was there as a punishment. See, I'd been throwing a tantrum in the car and my mother decided to teach me a lesson by making me get out of the car and then driving away. Her plan was to drive around the block and then come back and get me, a little shaken and hopefully a lot chastened. Unfortunately, she'd trained me too well.
As soon as I thought I was solo, I went looking for the nearest adult to help me out. My mother and my aunt found me sometime later making chit-chat with a local bodega owner.
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"What on earth are you doing?!" she screeched. As a mom now, I can only imagine her panic.
"Finding help. You left me." In my memory I sound a lot more placid than I probably did at the time.
"Well, I didn't know you were going to walk away!"
"Well, I didn't know you
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