If we had more people like Carl, we'd be okay.

Hi folks. Tonight I sat with my aunt around the kitchen table for a couple hours as she reviewed a contract offer on her house. Her realtor was Carl, who wears a tan jacket embroidered with the Coldwell Bankers logo. I could tell he's been doing this for a long time because he has dentures and he accepted the hot tea and cookies that were offered. (It annoys me when people who come to you for business reasons turn down a cordial offer to drink something while you're at it.) We eventually got down to reviewing the 36-page contract. What I like about Carl, and why I've taken it to the blog, is that he sat with us and shared personal stories about his life and childhood that made this otherwise tedious procedure more bearable. At times he climbed up on a soap box to shake his finger at the Berle and Dodds of the world. He talked about when his father bought a home in D.C. on 15th Street there was one page of paperwork. The top half was the contract and the bottom half was the deed for closing. And by golly he has that page framed in his home right now. As we continued on through the pages we learned how Carl has turned down buyers who expect to pay their mortgage using the combined monthly salaries from a dual income household. He remembered the days when you were required to afford your monthly payment with one week of salary. Then it went to two weeks, then three, and now you can buy a large house an not have enough money for furniture. He recalled advising one couple to buy small, build up some equity, sell the house and then get the bigger house of their dreams. Six years later and they still send him Christmas cards thanking him for this guidance. "Everything in this country has become about getting things now. Nobody wants to wait anymore." So here is Carl, the trusted agent we're coming to know. As the last page of the contract is perused I expect a quick handshake and departure. But instead the conversation relaxes a little, and my aunt and Carl begin reminiscing the old days. They seem about the same generation of retirees born in the late thirties early forties. Carl talks about riding his bike unsupervised around the construction of the Pentagon near his house. How once in shop class his head was split open by a 2x4 and the school nurese sent him walking to the nearest doctor. My favorite story was his recollection of Friday nights growing up at home. It was the end of the workweek and his family would finish dinner and put their individual weekly earnings in a pile on the table. Paper routes included. The first thing off the top was 10% for the Lutheran church. Then came mother's allowance, which was never arguable. Then the oldest son, Carl, who had to justify the amount he received, and so on until the money was divied into envelopes. When one of the siblings needed new shoes, everone took from their envelope and chipped in. It is the modern co-op concept at its finest. Looking after the ones closest to you, protecting the collective well-being.

Carl doesn't like the government telling him what to do. Let us negotiate and find the right path on our own. Don't tell him he can't ride his bike off the ramp of a construction site. Don't be surprised that he's taken care of his family selling homes honestly in a dirty market. This is Carl and he does it his own way.