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- My mother's basement
Nice to hear a good "overpriced" real estate story - glad it is making a comfortable retirement for you. In truth, since every high-priced transaction has both a buyer and seller, there should be a lot more good stories out there than there seem to be.
We were happy to take three and a half times the price we paid for a house some 16 years earlier, but mostly because we needed a large chunk of that gain to put another roof over our heads, a house which itself was priced a whole lot higher than it was a couple of decades back.
That place we sold is next door to the house my since-deceased brother bought in 1975, at a price so low I don't mention it lest people think I'm lying. That district was widely (but largely inaccurately) perceived as "rough" back then. It was populated by far fewer white people than it is now, which I am confident had much to do with those old misperceptions.
There are few people so self-delusional and self-congratulatory as those pale-faced recent arrivals to that district who prattle on about how they treasure the "diversity" there.
My old block was predominantly black when my brother and the gal who would become his wife moved in. It was still home to a few black households when my wife and I bought our place. The last black holdout is the fellow who owns the place immediately to the west of my old house. And he's about 80 now.
I'm every bit as melanin challenged as any of those newcomers. But, unlike many of them, I would never characterize myself as an "urban pioneer" or a "savior" of the district. And, unlike many of them, I recognize my own racism. I'm not proud of it, and I wish it wasn't so. But I have lived more than six full decades in a racist society. I am of that society. I am steeped in it. It's the world I know. The best I can hope to do is to remain mindful of that and try not to make it someone else's problem.