On the same note, I had an amazing childhood, complete with a tree house, being terrorized by the neighborhood dog and epic games of jailbreak and kickball.
The downside of all of this is I have a massive Peter Pan complex. Occasionally, I'll spend random weeknights up until the wee hours, fretting at the prospect of growing up. It's not that I hate responsibility - I've had plenty of serious internships and jobs - I guess I'm just worried that I'll never be that genuinely happy again.
I'm also scared my house is going to stop feeling like home. I didn't appreciate it at the time, but last summer was probably my last 'real' summer of working as few hours as possible, lounging around the house and maximizing time at the beach.
Now that I have an apartment with a year-long lease, I'll probably spend this summer down here, working something similar to a real job (to the tune of 40 hours a week). Next Christmas, I don't expect to be home long, as I'm hoping to study abroad for our January term. The next think you know, I'm graduated and apparently supposed to enter the real world.
I've talked to my mom about this and no matter how many times she says home will always be home, I'm always terrified that that moments' going to come and it'll be a threshold I can never go back from.
You know, it's entirely possible my parents did too good of a job.
Then again, with my luck, I'll probably move back home after graduation and stay there until my late 20s or my parents kill me, whichever happens first.
