There’s a time in college when your relationship with your parents change.

You take a step back and realize that you’re kind of friends. Not like, “Oh, let’s go to this party together” friends, but more like, “Oh, now I get why we’re related” friends.

I find that I identify more with my parents now. A big thing. I can now understand the punishments they gave me when I was a terrible angst-ridden teen. I can also see how awful I was as a teenager.

You know, when something happens when you’re a teenager, it’s the end of the world. I perfected the storm-up-the-stairs while thinking of the best one-liner to scream right before I slammed my bedroom door. My parents didn’t understand me. How could they? They were old.

But now, I’m starting to get on the same page as them.

Of course they didn’t let me go to a movie by myself as a seventh-grader with a boy they didn’t know. Of course I deserved to be grounded after getting in not one, not two, but three car accidents.

Thinking about the drawn out arguments I had with my parents as a teenager is painful and embarrassing. I want to go back in time and punch myself directly in the face. Then I would wipe off all that terrible eyeliner, throw away those Etnies, and tell myself to try harder on my AP exams.

I talk to my parents about things that I would have never even thought of saying in high school. And they’re starting to tell me things they would have never told me in high school. For example, my mom called me the other day asking if I’ve ever taken a Jell-O shot, and what my opinions were of them. (I think they’re terrible and usually end up spitting them directly out.)

For some of their stories, I think, “I actually would hang out with these people back in the day.” Flash back to the early 80s,and I think I’d sit down and have a couple of beers with the young McCormick couple. "Back to the Future" style.

What most of us tend to forget is that our parents were young at one point too. They’ve had their fair share of “college experiences,” heartbreak, and blistering, miserable hangovers.

What we also tend to forget is that our parents have done this whole growing thing before. No, annoying teenager Marissa, they weren’t grounding you to ruin your life. Quite the opposite, actually. They were trying to help you avoid the mistakes that they made. They were trying to keep you on the safest path.

With this realization, I came to a sobering and humbling realization as well. I thought of all the things that my parents did for me, and how ungrateful I was to them. I think about what happened on the other side of the slammed door. No matter how much I infuriated them, there was always a plate laid out for me at dinner that night.

If I have a teenage girl and she slams the door in my face, I could not imagine wanting to do anything for her. This hypothetical teenager would come downstairs for dinner and there would be a note saying, “Have fun eating cereal for the rest of the week, brat.”

The last time I was home, I was sitting around the bonfire with my parents on a Friday night, and I couldn’t think of anywhere else I would want to be. High school me would have thought it was lame beyond belief, but senior in college me watched the fire, dreading when the embers would cool.

As we all sipped on our Coors Light, I wanted to tell my parents how terribly sorry I am that I didn’t realize how much they loved me. But nothing felt adequate.

I wanted to tell them thanks for spending their money on me. Thanks for giving me the happiest and most peaceful childhood. Thanks for staying with me through difficult times. Thanks for calling me every Sunday even though I’m usually stressed and not the most enjoyable to talk to. But most of all, thanks for devoting their whole life to their children.

I feel I’m mature enough in my life to know how blessed I am with great parents who happen to be incredible people. Thanks for giving me the world and letting me be a part of yours.