Once upon a time, I was a little girl.

To say I had an unconventional childhood and family would be a gross understatement. My parents encouraged creativity, political activism, education, and also a fair amount of asking me to parent them, or at least to be exceedingly independent from a very, very early age.

When I was young, five and six years old, my father was often hospitalized, most often at Mass General in Boston. We would drive down, he’d be in the hospital, and Mom would keep him company in his room. I would read, play, maybe draw, then get bored–it was pre the era of televisions in every hospital room.

Hunger would soon ensue, and I’d be asking for a snack. Mom would root around in her purse, hand me a dollar and send me off to find a snack in the hospital cafeteria.

If you’ve never been there, Mass General is an ENORMOUS hospital, and it was even back in the 1970s, not to mention being in the middle of a large city. But my mom would hand me the folded bill or four quarters, and I’d head out to explore the hospital and find my way to the cafeteria.

I’d always get the same thing, a cinnamon roll. I’d perch on a seat and eat the delicious treat slowly, finally licking the last of the icing off my fingers before I’d get up and head back to Dad’s room.

For decades, this didn’t seem like an odd thing to me, this freedom to roam a hospital searching for a snack at all hours of the day or night.

Now, I shudder at the independence I had in this particular case, thankful that I never got lost, and that no one ever bothered me.

Today, I revisited the memory for a strange reason. We are in Boston for Paul’s surgery, and as I impatiently waited for news, I got hungry. I headed out, and instinctively headed toward the basement of the hospital where the cafeteria was all those years ago.

It is still there–completely renovated and much larger, but my sweet treat was just as tasty.

For a few moments as I perched on my stool eating, I thought about that freedom I was given all those years ago. As a parent, I’m still not sure it was wise, but as the kid who wandered, I’m glad I did. I learned to read signs, ask for help when needed, and pick out my own treat.

Today, I wish I could call Mom to tell her I found my way to the cafeteria and back again all by myself, and it made me smile…