{"id":10188,"date":"2015-09-01T04:00:01","date_gmt":"2015-09-01T08:00:01","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.bootedmanblog.com\/?p=10188"},"modified":"2016-05-03T07:08:40","modified_gmt":"2016-05-03T11:08:40","slug":"dont-live-regrets-make-it-happen-part-3","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.bootedmanblog.com\/?p=10188","title":{"rendered":"Don’t Live Regrets: Make It Happen (Part 3)"},"content":{"rendered":"

As I continue to reminisce about my younger days graduating high school and going into college<\/a> then adding a second degree and taking three more semesters to graduate<\/a>, I think about the downright casual attitude that I had, yet how deep inside I was afraid and worried.<\/p>\n

I remember at Christmas the year that I graduated, my twin brother…
\n
\n… had landed a job that he couldn’t talk about. It was oddly funny to be with him at our family Christmas celebrations, and hearing siblings ask me, “so what are you going to do — do you have a job yet?” contrasted with my twin who said, “yeah, I have a really cool job, but I can’t talk about it.” He still can’t talk about it, though I know now what he was doing. (I always had a strong feeling about what he was up to, but I chalk that up to our “twin thing.”)<\/p>\n

For me? My casual response was, “not sure yet… I may go back for my Master’s, or I may take a job at the local McDonald’s. I hear they’re hiring.” My family would have none of that. But I really didn’t have any solid leads. I was bewildered about what to do.<\/p>\n

The day after Christmas, I was visiting my mother. She asked me to describe my budget for living expenses without income. That’s when I began to get really serious about financial planning. My Mom showed me how to develop a personal budget and gave me suggestions about how to stick to it, and live within my means. I already had my first credit cards (one for a gas station and one from Sears), but I was advised to be very careful about charging things on credit, and always to pay my bills in full when due.<\/p>\n

Having proved that I had sufficient resources, at least for six months, my Mom relaxed a bit. She was not one to put pressure on me such as “get a job, you bum,” but I could tell that she wanted to make sure that I could survive well on my own.<\/p>\n

I mentioned in my previous post<\/a> that I did a semester of student teaching at the end of my undergraduate studies. What I didn’t say is that I negotiated with the Board of Education for the school district that I attended as a student and also at which I volunteered throughout college such that I could do my student teaching not only in that district, but also in the school that I knew so well by volunteering there for five years. <\/p>\n

It was very difficult to get approval to do student teaching in this district. The University had “student teaching centers” organized by my alma mater<\/em> in an adjacent school district, but that district was awful. I never wanted to teach there, and had no plans to apply for a job there. I really wanted to do my student teaching in the district that I attended, volunteered, and knew so well. <\/p>\n

I remember meeting with the entire Board of Education as well as with one Board member who represented the geographic district where I was volunteering and wanted to do my student teaching. I don’t know quite how we hit it off, but we did. She liked students and enjoyed helping others. She introduced a change in the rules that allowed me to do my student teaching in that district. Yippie! Again, this was both a matter of fortune as well as “making it happen.” I would not have gotten permission to do my student teaching there had I not tried, made a cogent appeal, and made the situation appear to be in their interests, not mine, to give that approval. (Keep this in mind as it leads to how I got my first job).<\/p>\n

During Christmas break, I phoned the school district’s Board member who helped me get approval to do student teaching there to ask if I could meet with her. I was nervous making a request out-of-the-blue like that, but she couldn’t have been any nicer about it. We met over coffee (well, for me, orange juice and a bagel). I described my hopes and desires to become a teacher in that school district.<\/p>\n

Rather than say, “sorry, nothing I can do,” that Board member listened and gave me some suggestions for how to get my boot in the door for a job. She suggested that I come on as a substitute teacher, or better yet, a long-term substitute teaching position.<\/p>\n

Later that day, I called the Principal of the school where I had volunteered (reminder: this was during winter break; I had the gumption to call him at home.) I told him that I was looking for a long-term sub job. To my surprise, he said, “well, our kindergarten teacher is planning to go on maternity leave any minute. If you want her job as a long-term sub, you’ve got it!”<\/p>\n

Wow–two days after Christmas and I have a job starting the first day of school after winter break. <\/p>\n

It was among the hardest jobs I ever had. I poured myself into that position by working 70-hour weeks with great joy and gusto. The long-term sub pay was okay, but not enough to afford to rent a “real” apartment of my own. I was growing weary of living in that basement apartment in my former next-door neighbor’s house, but I didn’t have many other options — so I thought.<\/p>\n

By late Spring, I was saving 50% of my take-home earnings, which left me with very very little discretionary funds. I was paying for the essentials only — housing, food, gas for the car and motorcycle, and little else. (Though back then, I splurged on my first pair of real “biker boots” — a pair of Sears Engineer Boots — and a pair of leather chaps.)<\/p>\n

By May, I was itching to move from that basement apartment and have something of my own. Again, I made it happen once more.<\/p>\n

One day, I visited an aunt who lived a few miles away. She told me that the house next to hers was just vacated by “a bunch of wild hippies.” (To my aunt, anyone with long hair, who smoked, and who rode motorcycles was a “hippie.”) She thought perhaps that I could rent the house for myself.<\/p>\n

I thought that it wouldn’t hurt to contact the landlord to ask what the rent was. When I reached him, I heard a tirade about “the damage caused by those hoodlums” and that the landlord was going to sell the place and “be done with it.”<\/p>\n

This situation became the first time that I learned and applied careful skills with negotiation. One of my brothers-in-law who was a real estate salesman met with me and the landlord. We walked through that house. It was a mess. Holes in the walls, only half of the electrical system was working, plumbing leaked like crazy, floors damaged, roof leaking — you name it, it was broken.<\/p>\n

After the walk-through, my brother-in-law turned to me and said, “don’t buy this house. While it has ‘good bones,’ it will cost hundreds of thousands of dollars to fix and make it habitable.”<\/p>\n

The house’s owner scoffed and said, “look, if you want the house and since you’re the nephew of that nice lady next door, I’ll sell it to you for $30,000.” My brother-in-law checked comparable sales and other data available to him and told me that $30,000 was a great deal, but I would have to put a lot of work into that house, and reminded me again that repairs would cost a ton of money. (Background: other houses in that neighborhood that were in good shape were selling for an average of $80,000 in that era.)<\/p>\n

I thanked the owner for his time and told him that I would let him know within the week.<\/p>\n

My brother-in-law continued mumbling about how bad shape that house was in. I had major concerns about other things — like how in the heck would I find $30,000 to buy a house when I have just a few thousand dollars in the bank and only a “temporary” job.<\/p>\n

I went mortgage loan shopping. I was laughed out of the offices of several banks. But one neighborhood bank did not chase me away. They listened, reviewed my loan application, and contacted the Principal of the school where I was teaching for a reference. My Principal vouched for me and said that he planned to offer me the next permanent job that comes available. With a permanent teaching position also comes higher pay, and benefits. (Yep, for quite a while, I had no health insurance, no paid time off, nuttin’.)<\/p>\n

And by serendipity of the “small worlds” of the community where I lived, the banker’s daughter-in-law was the daughter of that School Board member who helped me out. At my request, the School Board member called the banker and also vouched for me.<\/p>\n

However, facts-were-facts and finances were what they were. The banker said that I could get a mortgage if another responsible adult would co-sign the loan for me. This was a time when standing on principle and pride wouldn’t cut it. I took the papers to my mother and she co-signed the loan. The next week, I closed on the first house purchase of my life. At age 22.<\/p>\n

I entered my new house with a bright smile on my face. My Mom and aunt were with me. Then a thunderstorm struck and it rained very hard. The roof began to leak right over where I was standing. I got soaked. But I never was happier getting my jeans and boots all wet. (giggle).<\/p>\n

Two summaries: I was able to “make it happen” and find a job by making connections with influential people. I was able to “make it happen” to buy my first house by seizing an opportunity within what I could afford. It wasn’t easy swallowing my pride by asking my mother to co-sign my first mortgage loan, but she never had to pay a cent. I paid off that 30-year mortgage in six years. How?<\/p>\n

Tune in for the next part in this series on “don’t live regrets — make it happen.”<\/a><\/p>\n

Life is short: making a home purchase “happen” at age 22 takes guts.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

As I continue to reminisce about my younger days graduating high school and going into college then adding a second degree and taking three more semesters to graduate, I think about the downright casual attitude that I had, yet how … Continue reading →<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[4,31,44],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-10188","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-home-life","category-job","category-life-story"],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.bootedmanblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/10188","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.bootedmanblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.bootedmanblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.bootedmanblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.bootedmanblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=10188"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/www.bootedmanblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/10188\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.bootedmanblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=10188"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.bootedmanblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=10188"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.bootedmanblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=10188"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}