Homeownership Disease: The Saga of Owen Cash

1 The Foundations of Homeownership: Digging a Hole

"Oowwnn!"

My father had been saying this to me for years, in an unpleasant voice usually unpleasantly close to my ear. "Oooowwwnnn!"

I began to suspect he had this in mind when he named me Owen.

By the time I hit thirty, my father was not the only person saying it. A long string of girlfriends were leaving me for guys who were ready to buy homes (and start families and spend their weekends assembling swing sets and being super carpenter-plumber-electrician-handyman types!).

But greater purposes commanded my time, filled my life, ends more profound than Home Buying. There were, for instance, fish to be caught, and video game consoles were being packed with groundbreaking technology that warranted time and testing.

And travel? I wanted to see the world before I settled down. Do you have any idea how many varieties of dumplings they serve in Hong Kong, or how many types of ale are available in London pubs?

And so, still single and renting at thirty-five, I was becoming a rarity. Neighbors were whispering about me: He's not married? He's not buying a home?

I had high school classmates purchasing second homes to rent out, and buying cars for their already-teenage kids — cars that were more expensive my, uh, Datsun.

So I went out and got some literature on Homeownership. And the first thing I learned about was down payments. Therefore ...

At forty, I was a downright spectacle, with family whispering about me, as well as neighbors, people at work, people at church (and I didn't even go to church!), and complete strangers.

Why hadn't I settled down? Everyone else my age already had a home with ten years' equity. They had retirement plans, college funds for their children, boats, skimobiles, campers, home upgrades, spas, swimming pools, and enough oversize SUVs to support whole sections of the Middle East.

My Sony PlayStation just wasn't cutting the mustard with the Joneses anymore.

But he who strives long and hard will prevail.

At forty-five, it all changed. At forty-five, I finally became a Homeowner. God help me.

There are people who say you should put off having children and raising a family and pouring all your income into a home until you are older (like age 70), when you can appreciate the children and afford mortgage payments the size of major municipal bond issues (OK, say like age 120).

Most of those people are young and are having a lot of fun. I once was one of them.

There are others who say you should get married, buy a home, and start a family while in your twenties. Most of them didn't have any fun when they were young, and now they're mad at me.

But they gained something far more important than fun, my father would argue (and often did). They became established, respected members of the community. You can see that respect mirrored in their premature gray hair, the wrinkles of wisdom on their faces, the knowing, longing look in their eyes.

They walk the community with righteousness in their step, aware always that they have behind them the benefits of social conformity, and, often, that fabled treasure we new Homeowners have only heard legends about: Equity. As opposed to a mortgage balance that is, like mine, twice the size of the home's value.

And there is one other type of person: those who say you are smart to skip children and responsibility altogether. I might have been one of them. But always there was my father: "Own! Ooowwwnnn!"

Now I own. Now I get mounds of junk mail offering all kinds of things I never knew existed: insurance that will pay off the house should I get killed; refinancing of my mortgage at historic interest rates; great deals for home warranties; coverage for the plumbing that connects the house to the city water supply ten feet in front; and not to mention landscaping, tree trimming, lawn aerating (can you believe that?!), carpet cleaning, hardwood floor refinishing, painting, house cleaning, and even a service that will prevent you from getting junk mail.

The insurance that would pay off the house should I get killed or injured — that caught my eye, but I couldn't decide on an injury. It's a painful decision many Homeowners face.

I was also drawn to offers to sell my home at incredible prices similar to others just sold in the area. But my wife kept taking those offers away from me.

So now I own. No, sorry. I ooowwwnnn!

It was my plan to repeat this irritable syllable in my father's ear for years every time I could.

Then the first time I try it on him, he looks at me with a crazed grin and says, "The hell you ooowwwnnn. You just ooowwweee. Just like I did when I was in my twenties and had a wife and kids telling me I needed to buy. And after decades of owing and developing a bad back — and not having any fun ..." and here his grin grew wider, "now I ownnnnnnn. And now I'm finally having fun watching you owe. I've been waiting years for this!"

And he continued to haunt me with the word.

"Now that you ooowwwnnn, you have to fix up your back yard. Now that you ooowwwnnn, you have to repair the leaky bathroom faucets."

I am serious: At six-thirty one Sunday morning, he showed up on my doorstep with two sawhorses and a power saw and said — though I could only half-see him through my sleepy eyes — "Now that you ooowwwnnn ..."

Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat to the words.

"Now that you ooowwwnnn ..."

Usually the words are only in my mind. But twice I have awoken to find my father actually standing over me, tool box under one arm, a crazed look in his eyes: "Now that you ooowwwnnn ..."