“You’re an only child? I never would have guessed that. That’s a good thing.”

I’ve heard this. A lot. And every time I hear this, I always go through the same order of feelings: Confusion at what that means, and then relief that for whatever reason, it was a good thing.

For those who don’t already know, this apparently means that I don’t fit the typical only-child stigma: I’m not overly selfish, I don’t expect everything to go exactly the way I want it to and I’m not extremely awkward (although I might disagree). According to everyone who tells me the above statements, this is what I don’t do, and that’s a good thing. I’m well-adjusted like everyone else who isn’t an only child.

I’ve always taken a bit of pride in being well-adjusted in everyone’s eyes. I like thinking that I’m not the weird guy who’s clearly been spoiled and has turned out rotten. Quite honestly, I never “felt like an only child,” whatever that means.

That is until I started college and had roommates.

Years before I ever got to college, I always wanted a roommate. I always craved interacting with other people who were my own age, and I remember spending countless hours alone in my room just imagining what it would be like if I got to share my room with my best friends in high school, or even a whole house just filled with my friends, people who were at a similar point in life as me and who could just interact with me in a way my family never could.

Once I started college, I was terrified of having a roommate. Now I wasn’t scared of getting a bad roommate or of having conflicts; I didn’t have a problem with having to share a room with somebody else. What made me worry was if I wouldn’t live up to whatever a roommate should be like; I was scared of being rejected and a little worried that having a roommate wouldn’t live up to what I imagined it being; but most of all I was terrified that once I got a roommate, the fact that I was an only child would surely show.

I’m now a junior in college, starting my third year of having roommates — and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Having roommates, living in a dorm, simply being surrounded by other people that I can relate with — it’s been everything that my only child mind has always desired.

My freshman year gave me a roommate who I would laugh at videos with while also making after-midnight food runs. This year gave me a floor with guys who I still joke around with and play intramural sports with.

My sophomore year gave me, not just a roommate, but an entire house of fantastic guys who came to feel like family. It gave me a year filled with inside jokes, late night conversations, weekly board game nights and absolutely ridiculous antics. This year we made sure to keep in touch by having dinner together once a week.

My junior year gives me a mixture of guys that I don’t know very well, and it’s taken some time to really get comfortable with them. But it’s already starting to feel like I’m right at home. We’ve already shared side-aching laughs, experienced late night food runs and bonded over sports. I can only imagine what great memories I’ll get from these guys.

Over all three of these years, in the midst of being with these different roommate situations, it never mattered that I was an only child. I was blessed each and every year with great people, people that made the roommate experience special.

The great roommate experiences I’ve had had nothing to do with me but everything to do with those I lived with. Maybe the fact that I ever thought it was about me is part of the only child creeping in.