Moving Out and Visiting

"When I turn 18 I'm going to get an apartment."

Those words were spoken and repeated many times during my teenage years.  Probably sometimes during periods of frustration, and other times just a boasting "mark my words" sort of promise to anyone listening.
In retrospect, that's not quite what happened. I joined the Air Force.

While some people might think I nipped any chance I had of ever having any personal freedom at all right in the bud, I don't agree. Joining the military was my ticket out. I needed to get out of my parents' household, and I needed to do it as soon as I could pull it off. There is no way the average 18-year old kid is ever ready to live on their own. They don't have income, skills, knowledge, or sensibilities needed to juggle the day-to-day things that come with being a responsible head-of-household. I don't know about now, but back then it wasn't taught anywhere other than in the home--if even there. Schools didn't teach real life skills. All of these things--and more--are lessons that I learned while on my own in the Air Force. They were not always easy, and I didn't always make the right choices.  Nevertheless, I learned.

I was only one day into my new military career when I questioned my choice and wondered what the hell I had done. I suddenly felt very alone, and in a strange, hostile environment. Fortunately, I got over it quickly.  When it came time for me to visit home for the first time I couldn't wait to go. A month at home! Well, by the time my visit home was nearly over I was ready to go back to my other life. While I was welcomed home by everyone with open arms, it didn't take long for things to change.  Slowly over time I again began to feel the restrictions and lack of freedom that drove me away to begin with. There was a subtle feeling of resentment I began to get from dad, like I was in the way, doing nothing but freeloading.  The welcome was eroding.  I couldn't wait to leave by the time my departure date arrived.  There was one time a few years later when I visited home and I actually cut my trip short by over a week for that very reason. I wanted to go back to the familiar comfortable place back where I was stationed. Again, I wanted out of their house.

That was when it occurred to me:  I wasn't returning home for a visit--I was just visiting someone's home.