‘œA house is a home when it shelters the body and comforts the soul.’ ‘“ Phillip Moffitt

For most people, the idea of home ownership is irresistible. Owning your own piece of dirt, with a house and a white picket fence is the American Dream. Unfortunately, in many parts of the country, it’s a dream that can be nearly impossible to attain. It is difficult to come up with the standard 20% down payment, and even with the down payment, the monthly expense can remain unaffordable. This combination has lead to our current housing crisis because people have been lured into crazy schemes to put them in houses they can’t afford.

High-priced housing has been a problem in California for as long as I can remember. When I graduated from college and returned to my hometown, I quickly realized that a house was well out of my reach. My first job paid about $25,000 per year, while a very modest home cost five or six times that amount. It seemed unthinkable.

When my (now ex-) husband and I started dating, I told him that home ownership was very important to me. He’d been married before and his first wife had ended up with their home. He doubted we could afford another, so we moved into a very nice rental. It was a new house, and we were the first to live in it.

I was tired of renting. Though our landlord was a reasonable, responsible and careful man, I wanted to be able to live as I chose. I’d had my share of difficult landlords in the past, and I didn’t want to have to worry about my pets’ behavior, or have to ask for permission every time I wanted to paint. I wanted to have pride in ownership.

Unfortunately, the costs of home ownership seemed too high. We needed at least a $25,000 down payment, which we didn’t have. We rented, and I chafed, even though our place was very nice. I felt like I was watching my opportunity to buy a home evaporate. Housing prices were skyrocketing, and I felt like we would be doomed to rent forever.

One day, my husband gave me some interesting news. Some people he knew from work were selling their home, and it was much cheaper than any other for sale in our community. It was something new called a ‘œmodular home.’ It was located in the middle of a park that had many nice amenities, including a clubhouse, pool, basketball court and park. We could afford it; I had enough money to cover the down payment. Without discussing the idea with anyone, we bought the house.

It turned out to be a very bad mistake.

What my ex- and I failed to fully understand was that buying a ‘œmodular home’ wasn’t like buying a conventional home. Although it was packaged differently, it was exactly the same as buying a mobile home. We didn’t own the land, and we signed a lease agreement that covered the way we lived our lives. There were rules that governed where we could park, what color we could paint the exterior of our house, and the size, type and number of animals we were allowed to keep in our home. There were limits on the number of people who occupied each dwelling, and who was and was not allowed to use the clubhouse and pool facilities. There was also a strict requirement that all homes had to be owner-occupied. At the time, the rules seemed like a reasonable attempt to keep the park nice. We eagerly signed the lease and set about moving into our new home. It was the summer of 1989.

At first, the house and the park seemed wonderful. However, it wasn’t long before the landlords started to become unreasonable and difficult. There were one or two families that kept unruly dogs in the park, so the management attempted to force everyone with large- and medium-sized dogs to get rid of their pets. When residents refused to get rid of their dogs, the park started passing out eviction notices. We fought and won.

In the fall of 1991, my ex- and I were beginning our divorce. The local housing market had tanked, and we realized we couldn’t sell the house for what was owed on the mortgage. After considerable discussion, we decided I should keep the house, since I had made the down payment and my ex- couldn’t afford to buy me out. It was a stupid decision. I was under-employed and could barely afford the payments. I erroneously assumed my business would improve and the housing market would recover quickly.

My business never became successful and the property values in the park dropped faster than the surrounding community. Buyers were shy about purchasing because they would not receive a deed to the land. As the park space rent increased, and the managers’ reputation for being unreasonable spread, the prices continued to drop.

In 1992, my disabled boyfriend moved in and I found myself in the middle of yet another battle with the park. To accommodate his wheelchair, we needed to build a ramp; unfortunately, the park refused to sign off on our building permit. After a protracted hassle, we eventually won. I went into further debt to make the house more wheelchair-friendly. It was another stupid and costly mistake.

By the summer of 1997, I was again single, working a full-time job, and my business was beyond saving. I was deep in credit card debt, not from living extravagantly, but from trying to finance my business into profitability. I wanted to dig myself out, but couldn’t. The one thing that might have saved me ‘“ subletting the house and moving somewhere cheaper ‘“ wasn’t an option because the park rules prohibited it.

Lessons learned: I made three mistakes with this house.

My first mistake was that I let my emotions overtake my ability to critically analyze the house as an investment. I was so blinded by my overwhelming desire to own a home that I ignored the consequences of buying a mobile home. I didn’t realize that buying would have all the disadvantages of home ownership and all the disadvantages of renting. Even after the house was paid off, I’d never be free of the monthly rent payment and the landlord who made the park rules. Although all couples need to evaluate the investment potential of their homes, GLBT couples need to be especially careful, because there are additional tax implications involved.

My second mistake was that the squabbling with my soon-to-be-ex-husband overtook my good judgment. When we divorced, the house was worth less than we owed on the mortgage, and was clearly a poor investment. My ex- was in a far better financial position to keep the house and could easily have kept up with the mortgage. I knew it would be a struggle for me, but I was obsessed with the idea I’d made the down payment with my money, and I wasn’t going to let him have the house. I should have realized the lack of wisdom in fighting for an asset that had little value.

My third mistake was in taking out a loan to remodel the house for my disabled boyfriend. It’s rare to recover the entire cost of a remodeling job, and in my specific case, eliminating a walk-in closet to create a wheelchair-accessible bathroom created a less desirable home. After my boyfriend and I broke up, I found myself in the ridiculous position of having incurred debt to have a less-comfortable home.

Although buying a house fulfills not only the physical need for shelter and the emotional need of having a home, it has to make financial sense, too. My mistake was that I let my emotions completely eclipse my financial good sense. The phrase, ‘œif I don’t buy now, I’ll never have another opportunity to buy’ should have been a huge red flag. Had I realized that, I might have passed on what turned out to be the worst investment of my life.

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