I left home when I was eighteen and drove fifteen hundred miles simply to show that I could, I made a stand and shed no tears when I left everything I knew behind, at eighteen I thought I knew everything, and in my mind I was the smartest man around.
I grew up in what was considered a poor family, my Dad left before I ever started school and my Mom raised four children on her own, I was the man of the house from the time I was about six, and as a teen worked to help Mom care for my siblings.
By the time I was eighteen Mom had remarried, she had now introduced a new man into the family, and I was well on my way to becoming something great, you remember back when you knew everything and everyone else knew nothing.
I smiled when I saw that sign coming into view that told me I had done it, I had actually left my home behind, never to return, I was now in another state, uncharted waters so to say, and I was not slowing down, I pressed the pedal to the floor.
I left South Carolina, knowing I would never return, Hell nobody would ever miss me, good riddance I say, who needs this crap anyway, I am smart enough to take care of myself.
At eighteen how smart can you really be? Looking back I can see now that I knew absolutely nothing, and some of the choices I made simply proves this point, but after you have established a life elsewhere can you ever go back?
Thirty some odd years later, I have lived a good life and the details really do not matter, because I wouldn’t change a thing, mistakes I made and the accomplishments I achieved have made me who I am.
I flew home when my Step Dad passed away, he turned out to be one of my best friends, and the Love of Moms life, I am not sure that I became anything great but I did find the Love of my life also.
I have gone back home a few times, trips with my wife and kids, flights for Thanksgiving and deaths in the family, I have been there for both fun and funerals, and think one day I will come home for good, but who knows if it will ever happen.
The last time I left home, while driving down the highway mentally comparing everything I have, against all the things I have missed, I wondered what it would be like to be eighteen again, and would I really ever want to go back.
I saw the sign quickly coming into view, the one that told me I was once again leaving home, most likely for the last time.
I did the only thing I could; I pressed the pedal to the floor.
Is it possible to go back to life as it was after you have left home? And would you want to be eighteen again?