The house we lived in from 1962 until last year. The people who bought it, who had so much trouble getting a loan that the closing was delayed and in doubt until they showed up with the check, have apparently defaulted less than 15 months later and are now in pre-foreclosure.
It makes me sad, and mad: Our dad had all sorts of financial problems when we were kids, for a lot of reasons too complex to explain here. And he had seven kids. And yet he kept things together, in part by wearing cheap clothes and driving Toyotas so tiny and cheap they didn’t even have carpet. Last I was at 80 Pollard there was a Benz and an Escalade in the driveway — $100,000 of cars for someone who can’t pay his mortgage.
The new owners have kids too. I wonder what their priorities were, and what kind of example it sets to lose your home while otherwise consuming so conspicuously. It just seems negligent to reach beyond your means so much you get yourself into this kind of trouble, especially when you have children. And I’m sorry, but when you can get a loan for $900,000 you are smart enough to read the contract and understand the risk of losing your job or part of your income. So my sympathy is in short supply. I have to remind himself that this family may have a good reason for their changed circumstances, as we did all those years ago.
But mostly, I’m not buying it. Having those cars when they could barely get a mortgage, and then rolling over on it almost before the ink was dry, is just not something I’d do in front of my son. Ever.
