Love's Real Stories

Answering all the real estate questions you never knew you had.

Category: Kids & Family

Gifted

There came a knock upon Ryan’s door. He and his fiancée, Sylvia, looked at each other in a mixture of perplexity and alarm.

Ryan told me later, “Nobody knocks on the door. Our friends call or text before they just show up at the door, you know what I mean?”

Ryan and Sylvia lived in an apartment building at the time, on the second floor.

Sylvia answered the door.

“There was this guy wearing a tie standing in the hallway with some papers in his hand,” she said. “He mumbled something about buying a house, and I’m like, ‘He must be at the wrong place’, right?”

The guy was a Realtor and he was prospecting for apartment dwellers who might be interested in owning a home instead of renting.

“The dude talked about the FHA loan program, and before you know it, he has us in his car showing us houses,” said Ryan, “Buying a house was like the furthest thing from our minds. We found one we loved, though, and went for it.”

The Realtor took Ryan and Sylvia to see a lender, who informed them they did indeed qualify for an FHA loan. The only catch was they needed cash for a down payment.

“We didn’t have any money, right?” said Ryan, “But the lender told us that FHA allows ‘gift funds’ for down payment money. Like from family members, you know?”

That’s where Ryan’s grandpa came in.

“I hit up my grandpa for six thousand dollars,” said Ryan. “My grandpa said: ‘Considering your customary rate of pay, I should be paid off in, let’s see…….. six thousand years.’”

Actually, Ryan’s grandpa won’t receive anything at all in return, at least as far as the Federal Government is concerned, because FHA required him to sign a statement swearing the money is a gift and he expects no repayment, under penalty of perjury and statute of fraud.

“Ryan’s grandpa is a sweetheart,” said Sylvia, “and now we like, own a house!”

Ryan said, “My grandpa said to me: ‘It has to be a gift, huh? I guess I get repaid with your good looks and a song?’ Then he says: ‘I sure wish you were better looking and could sing worth a darn.’”

Aunt Ruthie

Aunt Ruthie giveth and Aunt Ruthie taketh away. Either way, we need to be prepared for The Aunt Ruthie Factor.

I became aware of The Aunt Ruthie Factor one rainy afternoon at a 1920’s California Craftsman style house, which was soon to be the new home of my clients Randy and Julie Hallman. Randy and Julie loved the house and knick-named it “Our Heart’s Desire”. We were now in the inspection phase of their purchase, and they brought Randy’s Aunt Ruthie by for a look. Aunt Ruthie, from my perspective, was a four-foot tall umbrella with feet that skittered like a sand crab from the street to the house. When she crawled out from under her umbrella and revealed the entirety of her person, I stepped backward involuntarily; she bore the facial features of the stereotypical witch, warts-and-all.

“We love the hardwood floors, Aunt Ruthie,” said Julie, “and isn’t the kitchen cute?”

Aunt Ruthie stumped around the place wagging her head, muttering “No; no; no.” We cancelled escrow that day.

My mentor, the wise old KDV, commiserated with me later. “Ah, yes, my son,” he said, “you’ve been done in by the family deal-killer syndrome. That, my friend, is a force for which we in the sales world have no defense. Matters of blood relations are stronger than the surging tides, babe.”

Two months later, it was time again to implement the Aunt Ruthie Factor. Randy and Julie fell in love with another home, a neglected two-story Queen Ann Victorian. We were silent as Aunt Ruthie inspected. Julie clasped her hands under her chin. Aunt Ruthie stood in the center of the empty living room, and a shadow appeared from the carpet, rising up her legs. I noticed the same shadow crawling up my own legs; and Randy’s; and Julie’s.

“FLEAS!”

A passerby on the street might have perceived us as an odd Irish step-dancing quartet, except without timing or syncopation, as we high-stepped out the front door and pranced about the front yard.

“Should I draft the cancellation-of-sale papers?” I asked.

Aunt Ruthie wagged her head. “No; no; no,” she said.

Julie said, “So that means yes? Yes! Oh yes!”

The Aunt Ruthie Factor works in strange ways.

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