...

My Grandfather Ran Away From Boarding School Twice. I Finally Understand Why.

After talking with my grandmother, I realized there was so much I didn’t know about my grandparents’ history.

Not just little details—but big pieces.

So after I spoke with her, I called my grandpa.

He was relaxed, like always. Easy to talk to. I told him I wanted to know more about him—his past, how he grew up. I wanted to document it so the story wouldn’t be lost.

So I pulled out my big old VHS recorder and we started talking.

Before that conversation, I really didn’t know much about his childhood.

I always knew that his mother—my great-grandmother—was full-blooded Indian, and that she had married a white man. And I always loved that I got my blue eyes from him. Apparently when I was born, he said, “There’s my blue-eyed baby, finally.” He had ten children with my full-blooded grandma, and they all had brown eyes.

But that was about the extent of what I knew.

So I was surprised when he told me he had gone to boarding school too.

He had this mischievous look—almost a little twinkle in his eye—when he told me he ran away.
And not just ran away… he made it all the way home.

I remember asking him how he did it.

He said he mostly walked at night, slept in ditches during the day, and sometimes got lucky enough to hitch a ride.

I asked him how old he was.
He said about nine… maybe ten.
Can you even imagine that?

The boarding school was near the Minnesota/Iowa border. The reservation was about forty miles south of the Canadian border.
I was shocked—and honestly impressed—that a child that young could make that kind of journey.
Then he told me they came and got him again the next year.

And he ran away again.

After the third time, they stopped coming for him.

I asked him why he ran away—especially because my grandmother had just told me she liked it there because she was “never hungry.”

That’s when everything shifted.
He got quiet.
Put his head down.

Then he looked up at me and said,
“There are very, very, very bad people there.”

At the time, I didn’t fully understand what he meant.

Years later, as I learned more about what children endured in those schools, I began to understand why a nine-year-old boy would risk everything just to get away.

When I think about that little boy walking that distance—twice—

I can only imagine what he must have been running from.