I'm beginning to realize that no matter how old I get, I am always going to think that know more than my parents.
When I'm faced with a dilemma or a simple life decision, my first instinct is to take matters into my own hands. I'm not interested in my parents' opinion or their assistance. After all, I'm 21 now. An adult. There shouldn't be a situation that I can't handle on my own.
Well, I think we all know that that's not true.
Time and time again, I look back thinking, "I should have asked my parents."
For several months now, I have been meaning to get summer tires put on my car. I am blessed enough to have a dad who bought me a car, helped pay for gas in high school, and cared enough to provide me with a set of summer and winter tires. All I have to do is not wreck my car ... and, twice a year, switch out the tires. Doesn't seem to much to ask, does it?
Now that summer has finally hit, I'm been a little overwhelmed with work, summer classes and attempting to have a social life. Now? Who am I kidding? Ever since I enrolled in college, life has been constantly crazy.
So when my dad gave me his annual phone call reminder to put my summer tires on, I did what most college kids do. Brushed off the comment. In one ear, out the other.
In my mind, there were a thousand other things to do that were more urgent that changing my tires.
Every Monday for several weeks, my dad would call and calmly remind me that my tires were still waiting to be put on, and every Monday, I told him I would do it the next day. That never happened.
Finally, after a month or two, I made the time. I scheduled an appointment at a tire shop in Iron Mountain, just to make my dad stop calling. I didn't understand what the big deal was. My car was running just fine with the winter tires on.
While I waiting for the men to fix my car, I sat and stewed over my dad's persistence. "I wish he would just trust me." I thought. "Doesn't he realize I'm an adult? I can't handle this." Over and over in my head, I kept hearing my dad nagging me. I was frustrated.
When the machanics were done, the owner came out, rolling one of my tires.
"You see this ma'am?" the man said. "You drove on your tire with the air too low and the rim cut the tire. This tire is no good any more."
What! This could not be happening. My dad was going to kill me.
Fighting my instincts, I called my dad up and told him the situation. Instead of yelling at me and putting me in my place he simply huffed and said, "Chelsey, those were brand new tires. I really need you to step up your game and start taking care of things." He was extremely calm.
"I know dad ... I'm sorry." I felt like a dog with my tail between my legs.
He told me that it was my job to go and replace the tire I'd ruined. He would help pay for it, but I had to make it happen. Needless to say, I'm not going to wait another two months to take care of this problem.
Looks like I still having growing up to do. And no matter how old I am, I will always be Daddy's little girl.
Oh, and don't worry, Dad, I already have the new tire on. Thanks for taking care of me, no matter how old I get.
Editor's note: Chelsey Roath is a student at Northern Michigan University. Her biweekly column on college life in Marquette runs on Sundays. Her email is firstname.lastname@example.org.