When I was probably 5 or 6 I decided to run away from home. I'm not sure what it is that upset me so much, but I announced to the family that I was going to leave and never come back. Well my wonderful mother, being the wise woman she is, said "If you'd like, i'll help you pack," Oh boy was that the ticket. I was heart broken. She did, in fact, help me pack. I'm talking the whole stick with a picnic table cloth tied to it, if I was going to run away I was sure to do it in style. I ran to a park two houses from mine and sat. I'm not sure how long I stayed, it couldn't have been more than 20 minutes, and when I arrived home, there was my wonderful mother waiting for me.
When I was 16, I moved into the basement. Boy was that a hard move to adjust to. Finally when I moved out for college, I felt I was ready. I've always prided myself in being very self-sufficient and independent. In other words, I thought I was grown up; that i didn't need my family. I wanted to get away.
Growing up isn't learning to be without your family.
Growing up is learning you still need your family.
Growing up is admitting you'll always need your family.
My mom said jokingly today "sorry you couldn't pick your parents!"
I replied "actually I did"
and I really believe that.
