So It Is True, Mother

The housing market has been hot for the past couple of years.  I've seen it in the news, and I can't help but look around me and see several properties on my street with "For Sale" signs up on the front yard, followed extremely quickly by "SOLD" signs.  So it wasn't too much of a leap of faith to know that, deep down inside, my parents want to sell this house, too.

It's obvious why.  If this house gets on the market, chances are it'll sell within the day.  I guarantee it.  Plus they'll get a fortune, especially compared to how much they paid for it back 40 some-odd years ago.  They have no more ties to the area.  They sold The Store, and even though there are relatives very close by, my folks never talk to them.  They are in the process of selling all the rental properties they acquired in the area; they say that the bureaucracy with the city of Minneapolis got to be too much for them.  They do, however, still have their real estate in Las Vegas, and they are quite intent on being there a lot more throughout the year, if not full-time.

They are empty nesters, but unlike some, they don't seem to be heart-broken that my brother, sister and Grandmother have moved out.  It's just me.  I am the sole impediment to their plan.  Yet I am the impediment that is blocking the plan.  Even though my parents bought this house and thus were cognizant that it was under the ownership of someone else before them, for all I know, this house has always been ours.  And goddammit, it'll remain so as long as I have any say in it.  I can't bear seeing myself living somewhere else besides the only place I've ever known.  I certainly can't afford to live out on my own.  Not like I want to, either.  It's like The Store; if there ever comes a time that I will have to leave this place, it'll be like a piece of my died.  And frankly, I can't take any more change or stress if I have to move.  And my God, the moving!!!

Still, if they can sell The Store and evict Grandmother, giving away the house would have to be next on their to-do list.  I just assumed that, and was OK keeping that sentiment unspoken.  But it kind of erupted yesterday (Sunday) morning.

This weekend I was a participant in a research study at the U.  I had to wake up and get to the tube at 8 both weekend days.  However I did not tell my parents that.  There truly was a possibility that a person from the alumni group needed my help moving out of her place this weekend.  It did not come to be; she decided to hire movers instead.  But considering the blow-up My Fucking Father had on me, I decided to tell them that the reason I was busy this weekend (and the reason I had to wake up so early Saturday and Sunday) was to help her move.  I was going to help her Friday and Saturday evenings, too; that way I could sneak out to parties on the former night and head downtown to watch the Frozen Four Final the latter.

Sunday morning I am leaving.  Both parental units are in the dining room.  They ask me what time I'll be home for dinner: "Six?  So late?" Mother said.  "Well, we're not done moving yet," I replied.

And then Mother scooted to the top of the stairs and dropped the bomb on me.  "Hey, ask her if she's selling the house.  I want to buy it, sell this house and move you there.  How's about that?"

So it is true, Mother.  You want me out of the house so you can sell it.  That was the point -- yesterday morning -- when I know for absolute certain that I was blocking their dreams of getting rid of their past.  My past, my childhood, just so they can make a buck.  And while I understand it, by Buddha, I was totally unprepared for the psychosomatic punch to the gut I felt.  I didn't even hide it; I was nearly crying when I stammered out, "But I like living here!" before I staggered my way out to the car.

(I will say this.  There is a chance this is a sentiment prompted by Mother.  Saturday a new family moved into the house to the left of us.  And ... ah, shit, my parents are racist: They're a black family [possibly West Indian] and they think that means the neighborhood's going to shit.  Maybe that's why she said she wanted to move.  But I still think they've wanted to move in order to cash in for a long time.)

Honestly, I was as close to suffering a heart attack all day as I ever have in my life.  I parked in Rosedale just so I could recuperate and think of a story about what to tell her, and to just ... deal with the fact that they want to move out and want me to move out too.  It's not fun knowing that I am the loser/asshole son standing in the way of their dreams and plans.  But ... fuck, I CAN'T MOVE OUT!!!  I CAN'T LIVE OUT THERE IN THE REAL WORLD BY MYSELF!!!  MOTHER SAID THAT SHE'D HELP WITH THE DOWN PAYMENT ON ANY NEW HOUSE, BUT WHAT ABOUT THE MORTGAGE PAYMENTS???  I CAN'T PAY THAT ON JUST MY TEMP SCORING JOB!!!  AND WHAT HAPPENS IF I LOSE THAT, TOO?!?!?!

I'm 41 years old and I still haven't moved out.  And while I really don't want to move out, it's time like yesterday morning where I'm acutely aware that I am not like other people.  I know that people my age have established jobs and are raising families.  That's not me, and I know it's way too late to start.  And so I know that I have become such a burden on my parents that they no longer know what to do with me.  They probably think they failed raising me.  And ... well, they have, it's times like these where I examine what is wrong with me.  All I know, and all I have ever expected out of life, is to go to sleep in a safe place and wake up in a safe place and just ... be, you know?  I get mad a lot, but so long as I have this place to call home, I think I'm doing OK.  So without it, regardless of financial situation or want to do something more or live somewhere else, is a huge and indelible part of my life.  And it's a hallmark symptom of my abandonment issues that I can't just move on and do something else and leave here because I don't know where I'd be.

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My heart was palpitating to the point of bursting all day.  I finally had to face the music -- and get my lie straight -- and come home.  And I told Mother that I asked "my friend" about the house and she said that her ex-husband got it in the divorce proceedings and that's why she's moving.  And ... that seemed to be the end of it with her.

And so my heart is beating a little more normal now, and my parents and I are back where we were -- in a standoff, them being weighed down by me until I get my shit together.  Except that I know that I will forever be unable to get my shit together, because I am a disappointing son.