**Beware of Fucking Sharks in Real Estate**

In the summer of 1987, my wife and I were living in a cozy townhouse apartment in a complex we affectionately called the “neighborhood haven.” It was a tight-knit community where everyone knew each other, and we often threw parties together. Despite the apartment’s flaws, such as inefficient heating and thin walls, it was an affordable and convenient place to live.

As we approached our ninth year of marriage, we decided it was time to start a family and look for a house. We added a new member to our family, a lovable Chinese Shar-Pei/Lab mix named Ruggles, and began our search. After exploring several neighborhoods, we realized that our budget wouldn’t stretch far enough in our desired areas.

We turned our attention to Norton, a charming town we had grown fond of due to its bustling flea market. We would often ride my 650 Yamaha to the market, spend the day browsing, and then grab lunch at one of the local eateries. Norton also boasted Wheaton College and the iconic Great Woods amphitheater.

One day, we visited a small split-entry ranch with a young realtor on his first day on the job. The house’s exterior left much to be desired, with an old Pontiac Grand Prix parked on the lawn and an overgrown yard. Inside, we met the family’s oldest son, who was struggling to recover from a late night. The house was in disarray, with a broken refrigerator, dirty pots and pans, and a rotted screen porch.

Despite the chaos, I saw potential in the property. The realtor mentioned that the windows and doors had recently been replaced, which caught my attention. After a second viewing, we submitted an offer of $110,000, which the owner eventually accepted.

Next, we needed to secure a mortgage. We worked with a mortgage specialist named Moy Lopez, who assured us he could create a plan that would make us attractive to lenders. With his guidance, we obtained a 30-year fixed mortgage at a low rate of 2.9%.

Before moving in, I spent countless hours renovating the house, gutting the bathroom, demoing the porch, and replacing the damaged sill plate. It was a labor of love, and I was determined to make our new home perfect for my family.

In the end, buying our first and only house was one of the happiest days of our lives. It’s where we raised our family and created lasting memories.

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