Perhaps someday to be incorporated into a personal memior, for now just ramblings about my life growing up and living in Roanoke, VA. 

All during high school at Cave Spring I did just about everything I could that was opposite of someone who had intentions of going to college. I had never taken SATs, or even PSATs. I didn’t make particularly good grades and ended up on the lower half of the class rank with around a solid C average. And most notably, I never applied to any schools. I did just enough to get by, without much care in looking ahead to the future.

In the back of my mind I had always intended to go to college. My dad had gone to Virginia Tech so it was understood I would probably end up there. But, as I found out quickly, college applications don’t fill themselves out and there was already a fair amount of competition for those with B and higher averages. The combination of my C’s and not taking the SATs just left me out cold even as a longshot.

My parents divorced around this time and I continued to live with mom in the house where I grew up, over in Southwest Roanoke County. I became a workaholic that summer. The work and the idea of being productive became my escape from some of the troubles and frustrations I was facing. Somehow I found solace in keeping busy. To this day that is still true about me.

I continued to work at Taco Bell after high school and when I turned 18 that summer I was promoted to shift manager. Which after a few short weeks I determined was only just slightly more glamorous of a position than a regular taco maker. I worked a combination of hours at the restaurant on Route 220/Franklin Road (near Walmart) and the restaurant that used to be at the upper floor food court in Tanglewood Mall for those of you that remember.

I was predominently a “closer” which simply meant I came in sometime in the late afternoon or early evening and worked until the restaurant closed. Then, I would have to count the money from the cash register drawers and see that all of the food was put away and areas clean.

This was back when that Walmart nearby on Route 220 was open 24 hours. After closing at the “Bell” it was pretty common for myself and another worker or two to go over there and do a little shopping, and a lot of hanging out into the early hours of the morning sometimes.

On balance, I didn’t dislike the job other than when looking back now I was practically working for peanuts! But, whenever I look back at the situation and those parts of my life it all seems relative. I thought I was doing well.

And, for all intensive purposes I was doing OK. Making money and living in a place where the bills that arrive aren’t addressed to you provides an amazing sense of naive freedom. It wasn’t until years later that I thanked mom for allowing me to stay there for those months after high school. At the time I felt like it was all owed to me. But, I was 18, a legal adult, and it sure as heck wasn’t. I still had some growing up to do.

Another several months would pass until I really got my act together and started down a path that would eventually lead to degrees from Virginia Western and Radford University.

But, those are stories for other posts. Thanks for reading.

Perhaps someday to be incorporated into a personal memior, for now just ramblings about my life growing up and living in Roanoke, VA.

I grew up officially in Roanoke County. That’s where I went to school from elementary (Penn Forest) through high school (Cave Spring), and it’s where I lived (in an apartment sharing rent with my brother) after finishing college at Radford University.

But, some months after I started working in a job that would lead to my career, I started to think more and more about a permanent residence. It was also around this time that my brother established a serious relationship, and was looking to move out so him and his girlfriend could both get their own place.

So, I would be stuck “throwing money down the drain” by continuing to rent an apartment when I could build credit and equity with home ownership.

Now, this is all taking place back in 2005 which was probably somewhere around the peak of the housing boom. Of course back then I had no idea about the bubble bursting or any of that. And to be honest, I wasn’t sure if I was even in a situation where I would be approved for a mortgage.

I was making a relatively modest income and only my salary would be used in loan calculations, there was no spouse or other co-borrower. I also had no money to put down. But, as I was to find out none of that would matter.

I originally showed interest in a house in the Garden City area. I even met a realtor and toured the house and had decided that I was prepared to make an offer. However, a couple hours after leaving I received a call from the realtor letting me know that another offer had already been placed on the house and it was no longer available.

For the next several days I didn’t come across a house that I particularly liked (or really one that I felt comfortable about being about to afford.) So, I mentioned something to the realtor about other potential options and he suggested that I was pre-approved for some 40% more than the range I had been looking for. If I opened up the search to include these higher priced homes I would be sure to find something. I even remember being assured that not to worry because the house will be worth so much more money in 5+ years anyways.

I look back now and think to myself at how easy a couple or family may have bought into the idea of owning their first house or dream home. The entire process seemed so easy for me and if everyone else seemed to think I was capable of paying it back then I suppose I could be able to.

Still, I knew what I was able to afford and the last thing I wanted to end up was “house poor” with such a large payment. Then, and still today, I already have a student loan payment as well as having to pay back Visa and MasterCard for those college years when I lived on plastic money.

So, not too long afterwards I visited another house in the the Southwest part of the City, in the Virginia Heights neighborhood. It very much had a “first time home” look to it. And the house was nearly the same price as the house in Garden City, but was this one was a much older house with a small yard on a corner lot. I was comfortable with the price and what the payments would be and before I knew it I had signed on the dotted line and received the keys.

As I said before I put no money down and thus financed the entire price, as well as took out a second mortgage to pay for the various closing costs and other fees. Both of the loans are standard and fixed 30-year notes with interest rates of 5% on each. The loan process was easy, too easy, and I’m not even sure I would’ve approved myself for the loan. But everything worked out as it always seems to do.

This past summer marked my third year as a homeowner in Roanoke City. And I’m not sure if I’ll still be in the same house 27 years from now when the mortgage is paid, but I certainly hope to still be somewhere in the vicinity.

Perhaps someday to be incorporated into a personal memoir, for now just ramblings about my life growing up and living in Roanoke, VA.

At one point when I younger it seemed to take forever and then all of the sudden it happened so fast, growing up I mean. It was 1996, I was 16 and it was the summer after my junior year at Cave Spring High School. I don’t remember the exact day but my father graciously arranged for the purchase of my first car. It was a sun-faded, grey 1986 Ford Taurus. And to say I was thrilled was an understatement.

To this day that is the largest single gift, as far as monetary value, I think I’ve ever received from anyone. I never have been good at accepting gifts. Maybe it’s, no, I know it’s a form of pride and a strong instinctive notion that I’m capable to do and provide for myself. But, I was only 16 and my dad knew all about the issues with my pride, probably because I came by it naturally. So, he had a solution for it all.

He handed me the keys and basically said, “Ok, you have a car, but cars aren’t free to maintain. And, you better have insurance yesterday.”

And that was about it. As I look back now it was all really just an informal test. My dad wanted to see if I would start my journey at finding my place in the world, and on my own.

Well, my first step on that journey, as far as the working world goes, began in fast food. The Taco Bell on Route 220/Franklin Road (near Walmart) I called my home away from home. I was the typical young punk behind the counter. (Well, except without any implied notion of narcotics use!)

Throughout that remaining summer, and nearly every Friday and Saturday night during my senior year in highschool, I spent saying, “Welcome to Taco Bell, can I take your order?” I started out making $5.50 an hour and have never in my life have felt so rich as the time I received my first paycheck. No debt, practically non-existent bills, and enough free time that it felt like a form of youthful retirement.

As it turned out a really good friend also worked similar hours. So after we both learned the ropes of taco preparation the time on the clock became a form of hanging out on house arrest. Chances are if you came to that Taco Bell drive-thru on a weekend night during late 1996 to 1997 you encountered one of us.

I didn’t stop working there after I graduated from Cave Spring. Well into the following years while attending Virginia Western Community College I still made tacos like the best of them. I even had a short stint as a shift manager and the promise of moving into higher management positions within the company. Probably more interesting, I saw and met my first serious girlfriend at that Taco Bell restaurant (she was a customer).

So, even today the place for me has a kinda nostalgia associated with it for many reasons. I still remember most of the food items, the ingredients, and how they’re made.

I just didn’t know how good and easy I had it then. But, maybe we never do until after the fact and we’re looking back. And maybe that’s how it’s supposed to be.