As we learned yesterday, my best friend’s mom is a lot more understanding than my own. When it comes to my family – you move out and that’s it. If you want to leave anything behind it is going into the dreaded shed in the back that has battled termites, rain and a couple of fires thanks to neighbor’s meth labs or whatever. Yes, the place I grew up is as classy as Lindsay Lohan. While I wish my Backstreet Boys’ stuff could’ve been safer inside, it doesn’t bother me too much when I think about not having a defined space in my mom’s house anymore.
It can be depressing to not see an ounce of you in a place you called home for over a decade – but at the same time, it’d be greedy to take up room in a double wide that can barely house the residents it currently has. If your parents have the space, that’s nice – but at the same time – you’re an adult and need to give them their room back. Plus, it’s insanely creepy when you have a time capsule that makes it appear that you never aged past 15.
Creepy factor aside because that’s for another day, what I wanted to talk about was the idea that having a permanent fixture in your parent’s house could be too encouraging for you to return. The reason I hate going back to the desert, other than the fact that it’s boring and there’s no WiFi, is there’s not a space for me. My nephew is constantly on the pull out couch, my grandma is in the den and my younger brother thinks he can live there until my mom says adios. Note, she already told him countless times that he will not get the trailer if he’s still there when she dies. He has yet to comprehend what that exactly means.
The real problem here is that he’s never left home. He’s always had a place there, so he feels entitled to having it be his forever home. My older brother and I have both flown the coop and while we’ve both had moments in our adult lives where we’ve had to come crawling back to mama’s side, I at least felt like a burden. Space had to be made for me. Now if my mom had kept my room as is, an untouched museum exhibit, I may’ve stayed longer. Given they got WiFi. It would’ve been more comforting to stay knowing that I wasn’t taking up space that could be used for something else. Plus, when I was a freshman in college my mom met someone knew. Today he’s my stepdad and like Michael V. Bloom noted in Adult Children Who Won’t Grow Up, she needs her own time to redefine who she is without us hanging above her head. Sadly because of my younger brother – I don’t think she’s gotten to fully do that just yet. She’s still his mom, his kid’s grandma – but who is she?
With all that said, it’s one part creepy and two parts not wanting to be a burden that I feel one shouldn’t have a room in their parent’s house once they move out. You’re not paying rent there, then you don’t have a space there.