3.6 The Day I Purchased My First Home In My Late Twenties

  

I remember that October day when I was 28 years old and was handed the keys to my very first house. It was a big step for me because I’d spent the last few years moving from place to place, virtually homeless, “shacking up” with women. I had saved enough for a down payment and finally decided to purchase a house on the west side of the town I lived in. When that day arrived and the deal was to be closed, I still had a degree of uncertainty, but looking back, I would do it all over again.

That morning I found myself sitting in a beige office at Century 21, with a giant stack of paperwork in front of me. The realtor and I were going over the details of the payment plan. Nobody ever explained compound interest to me before and when I saw the charts, I felt conflicted. I said something to the effect, “So if I only pay the minimum monthly payments, I’m going to have to pay three times what this place is worth.” He nodded to confirm what I had assumed. I knew it was going to be a big responsibility, but I signed the paperwork anyway. Owning a house would prove to be better than paying rent because after a while at least some of those payments would be going toward my own net worth. Upon signing, the keys were placed in my hand and the house was officially mine.

When I opened the door to let myself (and my large gray cat) inside, it was like being handed a blank sheet of paper. It bookmarked the beginning of a new chapter in my life, full of possibilities yet to be written. It was beyond exciting. The day itself was dreary and the cold air poured through the drafty windows, but as I walked from room to room looking at the white walls, I pondered over the realization that I could paint those walls whatever colors I chose. There was also the newness of having to fill the house with things…curtains, a television, furniture, and towels. I'll always remember that same night, when I picked up a frozen pizza; and as I walked out of the store, I immediately turned around and went back into the store saying to myself, “You don’t even have a pizza cutter.”  

It felt good to own a home because it made me feel like I was a part of the American experience, and I finally had some stake in what happened in the country. I grew up seeing my parents and grandparents owning houses...now I was one of their peers. As a young single guy, I created some of my fondest memories in that house. I associate those times with freedom, happiness, and tranquility; and I was proud of the life I had started building for myself, wishing I had done it sooner. I would encourage any young person to permit him/herself the same adventure.