Mama's boy

I'd like to think that as a 20-year-old in my junior year of college, I'm no longer completely dependent on my parent's aid to get by, but I know that's not the truth. I'm reminded of it a little more every time I make empty promises to pay them back with money we both know I don't have.

I'm a mama's boy and I've been one all of my life.

I'm probably a papa's boy, too, but I don't think I like the sound of that.

Since grade school, my parents have been behind me with every major decision of my life, always in support of whatever I wanted to do – where I went to high school, what sports I wanted to play and who I wanted to hang out with.

I suspect they've had to bite their tongues at some of the steps I've chosen to take, but they've never done anything more than give me advice and allow me to make my own decisions.

I could not have possibly made it to the position I'm in today without their (often overbearing) support, and it's about time I admit that.

This is probably starting to sound a little bit like an acceptance, I'd-like-to-thank speech, but in the words of Robert Downey, Jr., 'If you start playing violins, I will tear this joint apart.'

Any homework question I've needed help on or paper I've needed looked over, my dad has been there, usually with a greater concern about the issue at hand than myself.

Anytime I've ever noticed I'm starting to wear the same shirt three or four times a week, my mom has been more than willing to do some shopping for me. I'm starting to actually wonder, though, if it might be a cause for concern that I'm nearly incapable of buying my own clothes.

I had a feeling that their parental tendencies might have eased up a bit when I moved out of the house and they found things other than my wellbeing to occupy their time, but that was hardly the case. One week into my first semester at Geneseo, I found myself receiving care packages with enough junk food to last me a month and, more often than not, a 12-pack of Coors light.

I certainly had some questions about the legality of sending alcohol through the mail to an underage person, but I figured I wouldn't risk the packages stopping by asking them. The arrival of one of 'Mama Bochacki's Packages,' as they came to be known, was always a pretty momentous occasion on the dorm floor, so I didn't want to ruin it for everyone.

In my opinion, the clearest expression of their complete support for me (and my complete dependence on that support) came after the first semester of my sophomore year. After having slowly grown more certain over three long semesters that my first college wasn't the greatest fit for me, and having changed majors twice to no avail, I decided I wanted to take the next semester off.

With no real plan and no intention of going back to college, my parents allowed me to drop out and move back home for the better part of a year. I worked part time and did little else.

With my parents' encouragement, I got back into school this past September with a much better sense of direction than before.

I find myself sometimes wondering if my parents' support has robbed me of some kind of rebellious, adolescent urge to revolt, as I can't think of anything I would have actually had to revolt against. But I know such accusations are senseless. They've had the best intentions for me my whole life.

With my graduation from college, I know their aid will surely begin to dwindle, and I'll be forced to start living my own life. Thinking about such a time though, one question concerns me more than any – who is going to buy my clothes for me?

E-mail: brendon.bochacki@ubspectrum.com