Normally as I’m driving myself to the coffee shop to write
my posts, I have a good idea of what I’m going to write. This morning as I was
brushing off my car—again—my phone started ringing. I hopped in and opened up
my ear piece so I could start navigating over the slippery streets. The voice
on the other end was that of my mortgage broker, and he had some exciting news.
He told me that the process necessary for acquiring a
Federal loan for U.S.D.A. rural development entailed a lengthy background check
that looked for old government debt, and my ten-year-old student loans came up
with a balance of roughly $26,000. My loan would not be approved, stated the
underwriter.
My mortgage broker—I’ll call him Roy from now on—since the
beginning has been a motivator, and a shining light in an else ambiguous practice
of home buying of which I have no understanding. His motto has been, “There’s
always a way.” In this case, my new way is a conventional loan with a small percentage down,
and an extra .25% interest. That’s a lot of money over 30 years, but it’s in
the plans to pay more toward the principle every month, so hopefully it doesn’t
have a crippling effect on finances over the years. Mortgage insurance will
still be a factor for the first few years, as it was with the U.S.D.A loan, so
nothing changes there.
Fifteen years ago I had moved back to Minnesota from a
half-way-house in Palm Beach Gardens, Florida. I was young, and I needed
direction, and I followed the advice of a commercial I saw on the television
for National American
University. They said I could go to school full-time, just one day per
week. And I did, for a while. I took out loans, and I earned some credits. When
I moved to Rochester, I transferred to R.C.T.C. and I found out I could take
out more money in loans than I needed for tuition. Years, later, after maxing
out my loans every semester for extra cash, I started using meth and I would
take out tuition plus the max, then withdraw from the classes before the
deadline, and they would refund me the money. It was a perfect plan, because I
had no plans on living long enough to pay all of that debt.
It was a slipup that lasted many years and involved a lot of
paperwork that told me I would always be liable, and sometimes our blunders
continue to bite us even when we are far away from the occasion and doing good
things with our lives. I owe $26,000 to the Fed and at some point, because of
step nine, I will have to make good on that money. I don’t know why they haven’t
come after me for so many years, or why it says on my credit report that they
all have a zero balance, but I do know that they will not be forgiven, and they
will collect. I just don’t know how or when.
The last thing Roy said to me on the phone was that I
shouldn’t lose any sleep over this minor setback, and that it probably wasn’t
even a setback. Things will proceed normally, and I can just sit back and wait.
But that will not happen. I might worry a bit, and I might dig up a bit more of
my past myself to see if I can conjure up any other old reasons or debts that
could hinder us from getting this house we love.
I wrote this post in the singular until that last sentence because
this happens to be about me and my past, but it also affects my girlfriend and
the two girls. All of my past mistakes can have current significances; it’s how
I’m able to deal with them that sets me apart from Vince Jr. That’s my new
nickname for the younger Vince that still had a lot of learning to do: an
education if you will funded wholly by the Federal Government.
