Alma Mater Part 2 (Let's Talk Property)

It is a small, small, small world. It truly is. I can hardly go anywhere without bumping into someone I know. Even when I went to San Francisco in June, as I was walking on to the tram on my way to pick up my rental car, a voice greeted me with, "You know, OB, you run into the STRANGEST people in San Francisco!" I looked up to see someone I knew from where I live now and immediately replied, with eyes rolling, "Can I not go ANYWHERE without bumping into someone I freakin' know?! Sheesh!"

Back in February, Mr. G. and I began attending a new church I found about through a postcard in the mail. It's an upstart, part of the "emergent church" movement. It meets at a small reporatory theatre every Sunday morning, and it's co-pastored by two 30-something guys who met doing mission work in India and who now spend most of their days planning sermons in nearby cofffeehouses. I bump into them so often they probably think I'm stalking them.

At one of the first services we attended, Matt, one of the co-pastors, mentioned that he was born and raised in the same state I was. So I approached him after the service and asked him what town he was from. When he found out where I grew up, he asked me what year I graduated and what school I attended. After telling him, his eyes grew big and he said, "Oh wow ...do you know Jay X? He's my best friend and was the best man at my wedding!" Know him? I only went to school with him from first grade all the way through 12th. Too trippy.

Word has it that Jay is now a city councilman running for a second term. So I knew he was going to be shaking a lot of hands at our high school reunion last weekend.

Sure enough, Jay was there. I went up to him, and he immediately recognized me. I told him that Matt said hello, and proceeded to weave the tale of how I knew him. He quickly grabbed his cell phone, called Matt, and left an ascenine message about how I was standing right next to him and what a small world it was and blah blah blah.

Without warning, Jay launched an assault of 20 questions on me about my parents' house, saying he's mentioned my name probably 20 times in the past month because he drives by there just about every day. Just how many acres is it? Isn't there a barn in the back? Have developers come around making offers?

When my family was looking for a new house back in 1974, we came upon a "for sale" sign along a rural road rimmed completely by horse farms. The property was completely hidden by a tall line of trees and hedges. We turned in to find a long driveway that was a tunnel of trees. At the end of the long drive stood a modest limestone house sitting on seven acres of land. The front yard was as big -- if not bigger -- than a football field. Before even getting out of the car, Mom said, "That's our house." And that's where I grew up.

View from the front porch

The back yard and barn

You see, in the 32 years since my parents bought that house, it has become a haven practically in the middle of town. The city has grown it around like silt surrounds a cypress. My parents and our next door neighbor are the only ones who haven't sold our land. We're the last men standing.

My parents told me that they have their will arranged to split the house evenly among us three kids. Given that my brother lives in China and will probably stay there the rest of his life, and that my sister has nothing -- not even a job, I stand a fair chance of buying my siblings out and keeping the house. I've actually considered moving back home when my parents pass.

Now that Mom and Dad are 65 and 75, respectively, this is something I must think about, which terrifies me to no end.

And here's Jay, pitching himself as the benefactor to the place I grew up, where I climbed trees, made mud-cakes topped with poke berries and holly leaves, and created long passages among the treeline from one end of our property to the other.

As if I didn't feel enough like I was being stalked by a vulture, he signed my yearbook with this:
Yeah, I really feel the love, Jay....