- Brittany Patterson's 11-year-old son walked to a local dollar store alone without telling her.
- A stranger called the cops, concerned he might be in danger, though he said he was OK.
- Patterson was charged with reckless conduct. She faces a year in jail and a $1,000 fine.
This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Brittany Patterson, 41, a real-estate broker and mom of four from Fannin County, Georgia. It has been edited for length and clarity.
My cellphone rang at lunchtime on October 30, 2024, near the end of my 14-year-old son Evander's doctor's appointment. It was the police.
The sheriff's deputy asked if I knew that my youngest son, Soren, who was about to turn 11, was alone in our downtown area. "No," I said.
It turned out he'd walked just under a mile from our house in the woods where he's homeschooled. The deputy wanted to know why he was there, how he got there, and why I didn't know where he was.
The police brought him home
I was annoyed with Soren for going into town without telling me or other family members first, but I wasn't panicking. I told her that I knew the roads and that he was mature enough to walk there without incident.
The deputy said it wasn't safe because it was a dangerous road. She said all kinds of things could have happened, including being kidnapped.
Fifteen minutes later, as I rushed home from the doctor's, my dad called to say the police had dropped Soren off. My mom and I chastised him for leaving the house without telling us where he was going and how long he was going to be.
We discussed what had happened. Soren was supposed to accompany me to the appointment, but he wasn't there when I called out to say it was time to go.
I figured he decided that he wanted to stay. I wasn't concerned because I knew we'd be back in about an hour and a half.
We live on a rural 16-acre compound that includes our house, which contains an in-law suite for my dad, who's always home. My mom and sisters live in a building that's a three-minute walk away. The kids — we also have two daughters, Enola, 16, and Selah, 12 — always go back and forth between the properties.
We grew up with a lot of independence
My husband Josh works as a superintendent of schools in Montana. We were both raised with a lot of freedom and independence. We're free-range parents who want the same kind of life for our children. They're allowed to go back into the woods and dig and build forts. They ride their dirt bikes or walk over to the neighbor's house, where there's a nice flat spot to play basketball.
Soren told me he'd gotten bored that lunchtime and just wanted to go for a walk. He walked into our small town of 370 people along the verge of the road — which has a speed limit of 25 to 35 miles an hour. He wandered through the gas station to say hi to his friend's grandma, who works there.
She wasn't around, so he went into the Dollar General. He was on his way back home when a lady outside the post office called him over to her car.
"She asked if I was OK, and I said I was," Soren told me. She asked him who his mom was, and he told her my name. Then he got a little nervous — he didn't feel like he should be talking to her — and just walked away. I guess that, at some point, she called the police.
I didn't fuss at Soren for walking to the Dollar General because I think that's fine. I fussed at him for not letting me know that he was going when leaving the property. It was a communication thing. He apologized, and we moved on with the afternoon.
I was arrested
Around 6:30 p.m., the deputy sheriff and another officer knocked on our door.
I opened the door and held my finger up, asking if they could give me a moment to end my phone call with my client. "You need to step outside now," the deputy said. They asked me to turn around and put my hands behind my back. Soren was sitting right there watching this whole thing.
They said that I was under arrest on a charge of reckless conduct and took my phone.
At the station, they fingerprinted me. They stripped me down and made me change clothes into an orange jumpsuit. They scanned my body and took my mug shot.
I was only in there for an hour and a half. My mom and sister paid $500 for me to be released on bail, and I was back home by 8:30 p.m.
On Halloween, a case manager from the Division of Family and Children Services visited our home and spoke to the kids, my mom, my sister-in-law, and my dad.
I was asked to sign a safety plan
The next day, I contacted David DeLugas, the founder of ParentsUSA, a nonprofit that often provides pro bono legal support to parents wrongly accused of child neglect.
The case manager texted me on November 5 because she wanted to stop by to go over a so-called safety plan. It required me to delegate a "safety person" — presumably my mom — to be a "knowing participant and guardian" and watch over the children when I wasn't there. Under her supervision, I also needed to download a tracking app onto Soren's phone so I could monitor his location.
DeLugas, an attorney, explained the pros and cons of me signing — or not signing — the safety plan.
I decided that it was better not to sign it. I knew the potential risk — that the deputies could push the issue and maybe even try to have my children removed from my home — so it's scary.
But I feel it's more important to stand up for what we believe in. My kids are all supportive of that decision because we've talked about everything that's been going on. We know the maximum punishment could be a $1,000 fine and up to a year in jail. DeLugas is helping us dispute the charges.
Meanwhile, friends and family have said they're concerned because they sometimes leave their kids alone at home or their kids go out for walks like Soren. They wonder now if they'll have cops show up because of it.
None of us wants the government telling us how to raise our children.
Editor's note: Business Insider verified Patterson's account through documents. We contacted the Division of Family and Child Services in Georgia and the assistant district attorney handling Patterson's case for comment on whether the charges are being dropped. They have not yet responded. The Fannin County Sheriff's Office said it did not comment on pending cases.