Uncle Roger's Notebooks of Daily Life

The Road Not Taken

Ten years ago, I was sharing a rented house with my (now) brother-in-law. I was single and the extent of my responsibilities was to spend time with my folks and show up for work. Even those were not strictly necessary.

Well, to be more exact, it was ten years and five or so months. I suppose this could be considered a belated mother's day post, because what happened lo those many years ago on a rainy January afternoon was mother-related. On that day, my mother had a burst aneurysm at the base of the brain. She said "Oh, I think I just had a stroke" and keeled over. That was basically that.

Actually, I had another responsibility that was a much more serious commitment. Three years earlier, I had bought my parent's house. My parents bought the house in 1973. At the time, they were doing reasonably well, financially, and expecting their fifth child. So the were looking for a larger house. They found this one, after a long and, for a bunch of imaginative young kids, enjoyable search. It was in a neighborhood that was a bit nicer and the house was a bit bigger, albeit still only a two-bedroom house. It did have a rather large attic, however, with its own full bathroom. My parents paid $53,000 for the house and we spent the summer of '73 painting and fixing up the attic to make it a bedroom for the four youngest kids.

Around 1977, however, disaster struck. My father had a heart attack. Out of work for about a year, they were about to lose the house they had worked so hard for. Luckily, one of my father's friends was rather wealthy, having invented the stuff they made bathroom sinks out of or something. He offered to purchase it and rent the house to them until they got back on their feet. They never did, of course, and in 1993 this friend told them that he was retiring, moving away, and wanted to get the house off his books. My folks were in no position to purchase it, but thanks to another of my dad's friends -- a loan broker -- I was able to buy it.

I was an independent contractor making pretty good money at the time, so despite not having a Real Job, I looked pretty good on paper. We worked out some pretty tricky and virtually unheard of financing -- an interest-only 100% loan. Luckily, the appraised value was over the loan by a large enough margin to make the loan company -- two guys with money loan company, or something like that (I only, luckily, ever met the little guy) -- comfortable with making the loan. I kept that loan for a bit over a year, long enough to make switching to a traditional loan company a simple matter of refinancing -- an easier task than trying to get a new loan.

My father had recovered from the heart attack, but suffered from lots of little strokes (and a few big ones) from then on. By the time I was buying the house, it became very obvious that he was unable to continue working. When my mom passed away, someone (or a few someones) needed to help take care of my dad. We had a big family meeting with all five kids (and the lone spouse) and agreed that I, being the one with a significant income, should continue working to be able to pay the mortgage and take care of Dad's needs. The others would take on the bulk of the caregiving. My brother and sister moved back home to help out the most; my brother even quit his job to have more time to spend with Dad. I too moved back home -- I wanted to help out as much as possible and it didn't make sense, if I were going to be supporting (mostly) my brother, sister, and father, to pay rent elsewhere as well. So early in 1996, I moved back home.

Well, the arrangement didn't last too long, and pretty soon I found myself on my own with my dad. A few years later, I was married. My dad moved into a nursing home and in May, 2001, passed away. The following April, Jared was born and two years after that, Sara. We've done a lot of work on the house, basically rebuilding much of it (and learning a lot about contractors -- little of it good -- as well). Since I bought it, it has a new sewer system, almost completely new external structure, new stucco, new roof, a new bathroom, new landscaping, a new furnace, new washer and dryer, redone bedrooms, living room, and dining room. It also has a mortgage more than double what I originally paid for it.

Today I have a wife, two kids, a mortgage, and an actual Real Job. And today, not only do I have to deal with a neighbor whose contractor is dumping construction debris all over our path along the side of the house, but we have also developed a leak in the roof above the dining room. Tomorrow, I get to head off to a job I really don't like so I can earn the money to pay the mortgage and the roofer and the swim school and the martial arts classes and acrosports and the life insurance -- did I mention we got life insurance so the kids will be taken care of if something happens to one of us? Finally I'm worth something! Well, I will be when I'm dead, anyway.

As I was taking out the garbage tonight, I stopped to think that this is not an easy life, this life of responsibility and commitment. Life was so much easier when all I worried about was what to do on the weekend and whether there was enough beer and wine in the house. No one was relying on me, if I wanted to blow it all off and head for the mountains, the only one who would suffer, really, would be me -- if you can call that suffering. I had no worries, no responsibilities, no cares.

Two roads diverged, ten years ago. I took this one.