Just because you can come home again...

I was a freshman at the University of South Carolina in 1993 when I moved out of mom and dad's house in Lexington to live with a buddy from work.

Like most 18-year-olds that I've known in life, I swore I wouldn't be coming back.

But like all-too-many dealing with today's baffling economy, I was wrong.

I relocated from Virginia back home to Lexington, to move under my parents' empty nested roof, three months ago. With just a few clothes to wear. Without my wife and two young sons. Without any friends.

Unlike many who have been forced to return home, I was lucky enough to have a job. And that is what brought me back to South Carolina, to Lexington and to my parents' house -- if only for a time.

Luckily, it was only for a short time.

As awkward as I was as a teenager living at home -- skulking around feeling sorry for myself and spending too many hours in my room sneaking late-night phone calls with my short-term girlfriends -- I proved to be a more-awkward grown man living there.

Usually, I don't see my parents a whole lot, so I thought I should be spending time with them. But goodness gracious, how many episodes of CSI, Law & Order, etc., come on cable TV? And all reruns. After a week, I couldn't take it any more.

Soon, I started reverting to my teenaged years.

After dinner, I started to disappear back upstairs to my room, watching my own TV shows (albeit streaming Netflix), staying up until all hours of the night (which, for me, meant midnight), sleeping way too late in the morning (which, for me, meant 8 a.m.) and just being (in general) disagreeable.

I stopped getting exercise. I started eating more junk food. I started packing on the pounds like I was preparing for a long winter in a fort. (Side note: apparently, your metabolism changes between ages 18 and 36).

Possibly worst of all, I found myself having to explain my situation to friends, coworkers and -- sometimes -- complete strangers who worked for utility companies, primarily.

Even with a (fairly) reasonable excuse, it was embarrassing to tell folks that I was living with my parents. I think of the tens of thousands of young adults, and middle-aged adults, in our country doing the same thing right now and it makes me feel a little deeper for them.

I remain one of the lucky ones, despite weighing 12 pounds more than I did in May.

I have a job. My family recently came south and we are reunited finally. We moved into our new home in Lexington. I am busy teaching my family the in's and out's of Lexington life.

And, most importantly, I am out of my parents' house.