My House, My Beginnings of Adulthood
In the fall of my freshman year, my father came home from work with the widest grin I had ever seen. He posed one of those life-altering questions that most would ponder for days instead of minutes. “Do you want to use some of that money you’ve been saving”? he blurted out. This was followed by, “If so, let’s get going.” Stunned, I quickly followed him out the driveway and two blocks down the street. I had been trying to save every dollar I earned through odd jobs because it seemed natural that saving was the right thing to do. Nevertheless, my questions tripped over each other as I tried to get a sense of where this journey was taking me; however I was ready for the adventure! The future had now become the present, and I recognized the demands of adulthood had crept up on me in a rush.
Ten minutes later, I stood before a run-down ranch house. The windows were cracked, the doors were rotted, and the property was overgrown with rambling vines. Nonetheless, it had a kind of down-on-its-luck fascination for me. The prospect of owning property drew me like the proverbial moth to a flame. I learned no one had lived there for over fifteen years, but it could have been fifty for all I knew. I recall thinking my dad was crazy, yet he...
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