When I was in college I learned a valuable lesson. But not from any class I had taken.
Near the end of my first year of college, my brother (a high school senior) called me at school to inform me our Mom had decided to sell the house in Garden Grove—the house that except for the two-year exile in the desert we had lived in since pre-school. I drove home from L.A. to see what was up with that.
I sat at the kitchen table scrunching up my face as I listened to my Mom explain the reason—Mrs. Nash had big plans for her!
Mrs. Nash was a realtor and obviously not above selling snake oil to sell a house. She sold my Mom on the idea of romance—that moving would improve her love life.
My Mom was single and turning fifty that year, so maybe she felt this was her last chance to find a man. She had given Fred Fred (Mr. Davis) the boot a few years earlier—announced to me in the same manner the marriage was—“Oh by the way…getting divorced….make your brother’s bed…do the dishes.” Later there was a boyfriend named Pete Pete, who lasted a shorter time than Fred Fred. (And by the way, no matter how many times my Mom asked, I never once made my brother’s bed. Are you kidding me?)
Back to the story: My Mom highly valued being attached to a man. She felt that was the number one goal for all women. To her a woman without a man was not a worthwhile woman—no matter what her character or accomplishments. She thought there was something wrong with a man-less woman. My Mom had been taught this faulty philosophy by her parents. She bought into it and never questioned it—even though it wreaked havoc on her self-esteem.
Back to Mrs. Nash, who I called the diabolical plotter. She had plotted that my Mom sell her house (commission #1), buy another one in the Bird Lanes (a few streets over – commission #2), rent out the second house (property management services – commission #3), and move to a place called Oakwood Gardens, a brand-new idea at the time of a “swinging singles” apartment complex. (Perhaps a referral fee was involved? – which would make commission #4). Mrs. Nash told my Mom that surely she would find a single man at Oakwood Gardens.
But wait, that’s not all! If you act now, Mrs. Nash promised to bring her daughter Charmaine with her to our house when she showed it to prospective buyers. Charmaine was in the same class as my brother and he happened to have a crush on her. Mrs. Nash assured my Mom that she would launch a matchmaking effort between the two—and my brother would get a date—and possibly a girlfriend?—out of the deal.
How could my Mom resist? A two-for-one love story! As I listened to this cockamamie idea I knew I couldn’t do anything to stop it. But I tried to discourage my Mom anyway. I asked her why she would want to take on a mortgage when she didn’t have one—or rent payments when she didn’t have to. She didn’t care. I told her the set-up scheme with Charmaine wouldn’t work. Charmaine liked Larry, another classmate and friend of my brother’s.
“We’ll see about that!” my Mom replied.
“No use. Larry is cuter and more popular,” I said.
“Your brother is graduating as Valedictorian of his class!”
“Larry is going to Stanford. And he’s cuter.”
“You’re just jealous of your brother.”
Oh brother. As predicted, my Mom sold her house, bought the other one, rented it out, and moved to a two-bedroom apartment in Oakwood Gardens in Anaheim, CA. I wish I could say: “And my Mom lived happily ever after.” But this story doesn’t have a happy ending.
My Mom hated being a landlord with the parade of tenants moving in and out, their flaky excuses about late rent payments, and complaints about this and that. She also hated Oakwood Gardens—which we called Jokewood Gardens. It was too small, too noisy, with no privacy, had inconvenient parking, and full of people too young to consider being neighbors with, much less date.
My Mom sold the other house and moved out of Oakwood Gardens—without meeting one nice man. She ended up in an even smaller apartment. Charmaine never materialized as my brother’s girlfriend. I don’t think they even went out on a date. But I imagine Mrs. Nash won a Realtor of the Year award somewhere down the line.
My Mom never recovered financially from this episode. She was the perfect example of a divorced woman who as she aged, continued to have to work, but still moved closer to the poverty line.
I’m all for taking risks—especially in the name of love. But this wasn’t the case. This wasn’t about taking a risk on an existing relationship—like selling your house and running off to Timbuktu or Katmandu to be with a wild and crazy guy—who may or may not be your soul mate but you had to find out. I don’t think this episode was about finding love at all. It was about wanting a man in your life to feel better about yourself.
The moral of this story: Don’t sell yourself short because you’re single. Married people are not more valuable than unmarried people. And don’t sell your house for the prospect of a date for yourself—or your kid.
