Whem I was young, age 10 and younger, I was really mean and not very much a good kid to my parents, at least for what I remember. One time while walking into elementary school, I pushed my backpack into my mom's ankles. I don't know why but I did.

Freshman and softmore years in high-school were even worse. I wasn't a bad kid, but I was always alone whether I wanted to be or not. Some part of me felt that I had to take it out on my parents. Yelling at them and breaking things they bought me when everything was okay.

Fast forward to when I was about 23: just got off work around midnight, sitting at the dinner table in my apartment and my mind opened the flood gates to those memories. I felt horrible, disgusted with myself. I cried so hard thinking about. Granted, I might have had a beer or two before doing this but I called my dad and told him how sorry I was.

I still always regret the way I treated my parents. But they always loved me and I couldn't ask for anyone other than them.