"I think it's the cops" I said, as we jumped into the large bushes, off to the right of the street.

"Shhhh" I said to the other two boys as I held my finger up to my mouth. Slowly the police car passed without giving us a notice.

This was not the first time that three or four of us six or seven year olds had ran away from the Children's Home Society Orphanage, in Jacksonville Florida. But this was the very first time that we had ran away in search of our "Moms." Older women who we knew were out there in the free-world, somewhere, just waiting for us to find them so they could love us.

As the police car rounded the corner, at the end of the street, we climbed out of the bushes and once again set out to look for our mother(s), at all times looking to the right, then to the left, and then behind us. Keeping a close look out all the time for the police car that we knew was now searching for runaway kids from the orphan home.

"I found it" yelled one of the boys as he pointed to the red colored name, painted on the side of the mail box.

"Sure enough it is your last name. S-M-I-T-H" I spelled out in disbelief.

The little boy began to run up the long red brick walk-way towards the front door of the house. "Ding Dong, Ding Dong, Ding Dong" went the door bell as he constantly mashed the button.

I slowly began walking up the sidewalk and stopped when I saw a woman pull the window curtain to the side.

"Can I help you?" said the woman, through the window glass, as she pointed at me.

"It's your boy" I said with a big smile on my face.

"WHAT?" said the woman, as she disappeared from the window.

Suddenly the front door opened and the woman just stood there looking at the three of us.

"My name is Bill and I've come home now, Mom." said the six year old boy, as he started to walk into the house, carrying his small, brown, dirty paper bag.

The woman reached out and caught Bill by the arm as he tried to pass her.

"I'm sorry son but this is not your house. Where do you live?" she asked.

"My name is Billy. Bill Smith and you lost me at the orphanage home. Don't you remember me?" he said, looking up at her almost in tears.

"I'm sorry but I have never seen you. Never seen you before. Ever." said the woman, looking over at me.

"Are you Miss Smith. The one on the mail box?" I said.

"Yes, I am Mrs. Smith. But I don't know who any of you kids are." she stated.

"Let's go Bill. This is not your mom" I told him.

"But her names on the mail box. Said Billy, starting to cry.

"You boys wait here and I will be right back" said the woman, as she closed the front door.

I walked over the window and saw the woman pick up the telephone.

"She's calling the cops on us" I yelled out.

The three of us started running down the street and did not stop until we reached the old deserted Spanish style house which had been abandoned many years before.

We sat down in the corner of one of the rooms and took out grape vine stubs and our package of pocket matches and we began to smoke the grape vines as though they were cigars. No one said a word for more than fifteen minutes.

"Guess there could be more than one S-M-I-T-H living in the world. No telling how many "K-A-I-S-E-Rs there are" I said to Billy.

For the next two days we traveled up and down the streets of Jacksonville, Florida, looking at every mail-box and searching for our mothers. We found a few more "Smiths" but never any "Kaisers."

The police finally caught us over on Riverside Avenue and returned us to the orphanage, where we got "our little asses beat with a switch" and were locked in the dark closet for a day, with no food or water.

Twenty eight years later I found my mother in Cedartown, Georgia, so I telephoned her. She refused to see me, or my half sister, who I had located several years before.

I drove up to my Mom's house, late one evening, just to see where she lived. The first thing that I noticed was that her name was still not printed on her mail-box.

I guess she still don't want to be found.

 Roger Dean Kaiser

 "Stories from The Life and Times of Roger Dean Kiser www.rogerdeankiser.com E-mail Roger at: trampolineone@webtv.net