Well, nobody out here thinks Minnesota is the other side of the country, but out west, the Midwest is anything but west.
Nonetheless, here I 
am, somewhere east of ‘out west’ and west of whatever is further east.
About a week ago my good friend from high school, whom I haven’t really kept in touch with since, asked me what my parents thought of me living on the other side of the country.
I thought about it for a second.
Maybe a minute, but I wanted to respond quick because we were on Facebook Chat and I didn’t want this girl thinking my green icon was going to soon turn into a lunar rejection.
What do my parents think of me living on the other side of the country?
Well, they were okay with it at first, matter of fact it was my mother who encouraged me to make the trip (that same mother who packed a few beers in the sack lunch she gave me for the train ride). I doubt either of them expected me to stay another year, but indeed I am.
I haven’t actually asked them what they think, but I have a few assumptions.
First, I am not a normal 21 year old, partially in that I am only 21 for a few more weeks, and also because I am not in University. I have traveled a lot, I often hang out with people older than me, I don’t like to look on the bottom shelf when making my wine selection, I make wine selections. Most of my peers aren’t this way. Not to say that I am clearly more mature and sophisticated, I doubt that, but I live a lifestyle more resembling that of a late twenty-something yuppie. I just shave less.
My parents recognize this. They recognize this and I think they prefer it. Both of my parents had to grow up pretty quickly, regarding their childhood. If you know me, and my story, you know I had to grow up pretty fast too.
The relationship I have with my parents is that of an adult child with his or her parents. They still help me, a ton actually. Financially sometimes, with recipes other times. But this is the thing, I help them sometimes also. I remember a conversation I was having with my mom a month or two ago, and we were talking about Portland restaurants. I remember making a few suggestions to her, and her accepting them. I feel like we are in some ways on a more level playing field. I help them, they (more often still) help me.
It isn’t to say that I am much more mature, in far to many ways I am not. It is just to say that this relationship I have with my parents is so much better than it was a few years ago.
Often I wish I lived in Portland, just for the very fact that I would be able to do just hang out with my parents. Get a drink, go to dinner, whatever.
And I am thankful, indeed, for that.