On My Independence or Lack Thereof

I'm mostly independent at this point in my life and sometimes hate when I'm dependent on my parents for anything. I hate having to wait on them and do things their way and just not be able to get it done how I want it when I want it. Sometimes I wish I could just take care of everything I needed by myself.

And then I'm reminded that I still need my parents -- Ivy League education and life in the city be damned.

I scratched a car pulling out of a parking lot today. Totally my fault, totally my stupidity. When the owner came out, she had a freak attack -- it's really just a scratch. Her husband (via her cell phone) after confirming that I was not Italian threatened that if I gave her the wrong info he'd come to my house and find me.

I had no clue what to do and was -- and still am -- very shaken. And I needed my father. I needed him to tell me not to be shaken up, that it was OK, that he had been in my place. I needed him to tell me what to do and what to tell her and to tell me that it wasn't such a huge deal and that how I dealt with the lady was OK.

We're not a lovey-dovey, hugging, kiss-and-make-up sort of family. And I spend a lot of time upset at various family members -- for things big and small. But every once in awhile it's good to be reminded that I do need them and that while independence is nice, it's good to have someone you know you can call when your computer crashes or when you get into an accident or when you need to move everything you own and everything you've accumulated over a year out of your dorm in the span of a few hours.

Next time, hopefully I'll be reminded without scary Mafia-like threats, though.