A Little Look at My Life as a Landlady

When our daughter was in her teens, she brought home kids the way many caring souls bring home stray kittens. The kids were her friends in high school who were either homeless, moving around to stay at one person's house awhile and then another's and another's, or in homes that provided less than desirable environments. It started with Louis, whom she met at running camp, brought home on my 50th birthday, and said, "Isn't he cute? Can we keep him?" We did.

His mother was in prison (drugs) and his father was dead (drugs and alcohol). He was being kicked out of his ninth foster home. He had serious issues going on as a result of abuse and abandonment. It was a rough row to hoe because he was anything but a pleasant person, and introduced an element of toxicity into our lives. Our conflict was in exposing our daughter at such close range to someone so volatile, but she was as invested in "saving" him as we were, and although we paid a price, in the long run, to his credit, Louis became stable in his adulthood, a good husband, loving father, and productive member of the community. His mother has found God, is trying sincerely to bring Louis into the fold, and their relationship is actually functional, at long last.

But "back when," Louis brought home Bruce, his best friend. Bruce didn't need us the way Louis did, but Louis needed Bruce, and Bruce brought home Lisa, a friend from Salinas. Our daughter then brought home her best friend, another Jennifer whom we called "Little Jenn" because she was skinny as a rail. All the kids called us Mom and Dad. There were lots of hugs and lots of problems that we tackled during family meetings, which we all hated but damn, they worked.

Little Jenn had her own issues from childhood, which she was addressing in therapy, and although she came to live with us she often visited her little brothers to keep an eye on them. She brought them home one time with tears in her eyes, saying they hadn't eaten and their mother (with substance abuse issues) was not to be found. I made beef stroganoff in my pressure cooker and fed the two boys at my table.

Halfway through the meal their mother showed up, went to the table and proceeded to pick pieces of meat off her sons' plates which she hastily ate. Something like that, you don't forget. To her credit, that was a long time ago and I believe she has cleaned up her act. Has she become a name on my favorite persons list? Uhhh.... no. But more recently when I lost weight and had literally a closet full of clothes that hung on me, guess who I gave them to. Little Jenn, to pass along to her mother, who was divorced, homeless, and not working.

In recent years my daughter lived in Sparks, Nevada, and Little Jenn would occasionally come to visit me. We established a "Mother/Daughter Day" that consisted of watching a movie together, with chips and dip, heartfelt talks, some laughter and some tears. I suppose I was filling in as a mother figure and she was filling in as a daughter figure, but over time events occurred that resulted in miscommunication and a falling out. Although I offered to talk things out and mend that fence, she was not interested and I let it (and her) go.

Back track now to when we were still at the height of our friendship. My mother's house became vacant and Little Jenn's brother and his wife rented it, against my better judgement. I told them I didn't think they could afford it (even though I dropped the rent $50 for them and did not ask for the last month's rent in advance, or a security deposit). I told them the place was old, needed work, and the huge yard required a LOT of maintenance. They LOVED yard work, they told me, and couldn't wait to get started. They also agreed to clean and paint indoors, which they did. There was a huge pile of trash in the back yard which they agreed to dispose of. They took two loads to the dump, and not only left the rest but contributed to it over a period of two years, during which time they did nothing but complain about the house being old and the yard being too big to take care of. Payment of rent was sporadic. Two, three weeks late, half now, half later, etc. In our dealings with them they became so rude and disrespectful that even my husband (with unlimited patience and great people skills) gave up, and we asked our son to take over management so we could remove ourselves from the situation.

The meat eating mother had worked many years in property management and so was well versed in how to live in a house without paying rent, milking the system that looks out for renters, not owners. Knowing this in advance, while Little Jenn and I were still what I thought was close, I expressed my concern that her brother would, in the end, not treat us honorably. She looked me in the eye, her hands on my shoulders, and said, "Mom, I PROMISE you I will not let that happen."

When the time came that it did happen, word came back to me through our daughter that her best friend had long since washed her hands of her brother and his wife, therefore she felt no responsibility to intercede when they lived in the rental without paying their garbage bill for a year (which cost us several hundred dollars), and without paying rent for two months, which cost us a couple of thousand dollars. Interesting thing about promises. They only last until you decide to break them. But, lesson learned.

Now the house is empty, we're working like crazy to do improvements we couldn't do when the tenants were, uhhh... such crappy tenants... because (1) we avoided them as best we could and (2) they didn't communicate with us once they planned to bilk us so we had no way of knowing the sprinklers didn't work, some tile was missing in the kitchen, and the roof needed replacing, not patching. They've moved out, we're dealing with all the junk they've left behind, and on one unexpected encounter with him, when the tenant made a fist and would have hit me if Frank hadn't gotten between us, and threatened, "Wait till you see what I do next," we called the sheriff. A roofer was there at the time to witness this, and there's a report on file. So we'll see where this goes from here.

Bottom line, in a weird way I'm enjoying the process of spiffing up the old place, but my heart hurts when I allow myself to explore the old fashioned, outdated attributes of honesty, integrity, and loyalty. Let alone appreciation. And just when I was recently spiralling downward emotionally, Louis stopped by with a big smile, a warm hug, and a reminder to me that in all bad there is good. Who would have thought that the one kid of all our kids, who gave us the most problems, would end up giving us the most reassurance that it was, indeed worth it. When Louis says on occasion, "I love you," he means it, and I feel it. It feels good.