“To us, our house was not unsentient matter -- it had a heart, and a soul, and eyes to see us with; and approvals and solicitudes and deep sympathies; it was of us, and we were in its confidence, and lived in its grace and in the peace of its benediction.” Mark Twain

I remember when my father bought our first house. It was back in the 60's. We had moved out to the suburbs to take advantage of the better public schools and get out from the congestion and crime of the city. My parents bought a 4000 sq ft home next to a golf course with a swimming pool and an interior courtyard. It was considered a dream home. The cost: $60,000 which was pretty expensive back then. My father was so proud of it. He prided himself on being a "self made man" who had only a high school education but ended up owning the largest wholesale florist business in Western NY. He was advised by his accountant to take out a mortgage when he purchased the house which horrified him. He hated credit. Never used credit cards unless necessary and then paid off the entire balance every month. He was frugal about many things ( and I seem to have inherited the same traits!) Every month, he paid the mortgage on time. And he did this for two years. Finally he paid it off in full. And I remember the event like it was yesterday. He took the mortgage out the front door, stood on the lawn and set fire to it with his cigarette lighter. We watched as he performed this rite of passage because then and only then did he truly in his own mind OWN his home. 

Success and home ownership were inextricably linked for him. So much so that he also paid off his mother's mortgage that same year. And I guess he has passed on that legacy to me. My husband and I have owned quite a few homes over the 30 years. Right now as I type this, I am finally in the home of my dreams. A wonderful old colonial on an acre next to a university in a small town in Tennessee. Not only do I love the house with its hardwood floors, and claw foot tubs, but the myriad 100 ft maple and oak trees that surround the park-like grounds. Yes, it's work. There's always something that needs doing but for me it is a labor of love. My neighbors and I are supportive but also, a bit competitive and we pride ourselves on challenging each other to grow the best roses, have the greenest lawns, and of course the best Christmas decorations at holiday time. Plus we are keeping the economy humming with all manner of trips to Home Depot, Lowes, purchases of Hickory Furniture, Whirlpool appliances, Sherwin William and Valspar Paints, Snap on Tools, cans of WD40, lawn care from Dow Chemical, catalogues from Restoration Hardware, and faucets from Wayfair. (Yes I am long all those stocks!) 

For both my parents and myself, our houses are extensions of ourselves. They are decorated with our preferences, choice of  antique furniture and personal collections. Treasured finds from trips to Europe. Family heirlooms. Photo albums so we don't forget who we are or those we loved.

 We can paint the walls any color we like. Drive as many nails into them as we need. Take down wallpaper. Put in doors. Hang wall sconces. Stain floors. 

We don't have to hear other people's kids, dogs, or arguments through paper thin walls. We don't have to endure other people's plumbing problems or a teenage boy playing his drums at 3 am in the morning. With a house you have control. And for those that are less tolerant of the proximity of other people, an apartment is not an option. For me Sartre was right. Hell is other people. Especially in apartment buildings.

My mother lived in our old house for 35 years. And  when she sold it, she made quite a nice profit on it. She has subsequently rented apartments and I can tell you if she had to do it over again, she would have kept the house. She has regretted that decision. There's something funny that happens when you own a house a long time. You become a part of it. It holds not only all your material possessions but all your memories as well. Birthday parties, 35 years worth of  Christmas trees and eggnog by the fireplace.Barbecues in summer where my father displayed his (ahem) skill with hamburgers.Or his skill growing petunias and geraniums in his flagstone raised beds. Every Memorial Day, he carefully hand selected the plants from Mischler's a local florist he knew, and proceeded to design the beds accordingly. Every night when he came home, the first thing he did was head out to the beds to pinch and dead head the flowers and water and feed them. They were his other children. So were the ducks that used to use our pool to mate in. The female mallard would leave her eggs and we'd incubate them til they hatched. The little ducklings would follow my father around the garden as he took care of the plants. It was one of the funniest things I ever saw. My father with his entourage of six tiny ducks waddling behind him like some crazy Disney cartoon. 

Our house was also the setting for:  First dates. Graduations. Prom nights taken with Brownie cameras and little sisters being obnoxious. Wedding days and nervous brides and very sad fathers.  Funerals and lots of tears and reminiscing. 35 years worth of chocolate Easter eggs, Polish ham, and multi colored hardboiled eggs. 

The central station of the house was of course the kitchen where the day's crisis was erased with warm chocolate chip cookies and a reassuring story. Or the Saturday afternoons I spent making brownies with my girlfriends where most of it ended up on the walls while we did our best Julia Child impersonations. 

We never seemed to worry about having enough money to pay the bills, or buy two new cars every four years.  My father was partial to Buicks, so we had a Buick station wagon and a Sabre convertible.And we managed to do that with only my father's paycheck. My sisters and I ( I was the middle child) were given a modest amount of spending money. I never got an allowance. If I wanted extra money, I gave piano lessons to kids around town that I advertised in the small local paper. My father put all three of us through private university not borrowing a penny to do it. And before you think otherwise, we were not mega rich. Upper middle class is where I think we'd be considered.

I am not sure how or why the dream of having a home died. But it makes me sad to think of all the millennials that will never have the opportunity to grow a life in their own home. A placeholder that is special to them. That will preserve all their memories in one place. When I think back to my childhood I can't imagine it without our house on  Lake Ledge.( There was a small man -made lake at the end of the street that froze over in the winter where we'd ice skate and toboggan.) 

I have since returned to my home town many times and each time I do, I make it a point to drive by our old house. I sit in my car and just look at it. (Hoping the new owners don't call the police or shoo me away.) And if I am lucky a few memories start to pour forth. I remember when a bird broke its neck trying to fly through our front window, my sister picked up the little dead bird and proceeded to have a funeral and a proper Christian burial. We dug a small grave  and we put it in on the side of the garage and used popsicle sticks as a marker.

 I look to see what changes the new owners made like cutting down the beautiful clump birch that used to sit outside my bedroom window. Or how they took down the wrought iron pillars and replaced them with fluted white columns. I am conflicted by my visits. I am glad the house is being taken care of but sad to think my memories are being replaced by their memories. And yes, I am still covetous of all that the house meant to me.

I hope the millennials rethink home ownership. It certainly is a more viable option for at least one cohort  - the financially stable ones who don't need to be mobile to seek employment. I am sure there are lots of millennials who don't aspire to a never ending series of apartments in mixed-use communities  in urban centers. Perhaps even some that still want that four-bed-two-bath central hall colonial in the verdant suburbs with a tree-lined driveway,white picket fence and a Golden Lab welcoming them home everyday. Corny? Sure. But in a very nice way. 

And who knows. It could turn out to be a wise investment. For 30 years, it has for me.

This recent Bloomberg article certainly makes a good argument for buying now versus renting. It could cost cost you $65,000 a year every year you put off buying a house. 

http://www.bloomberg.com/news/articles/2015-05-28/not-buying-a-home-could-cost-you-65-000-a-year

As a post script. This is a recent article from the Wall Street Journal that suggests they really do want a house over a condo. I submit it guardedly since the survey was conducted by the National Association of Home Builders.http://www.wsj.com/articles/millennials-prefer-single-family-homes-in-the-suburbs-1421896797

*Addendum: Gleaned from the most recent articles on the subject, there emerges at least  two different millennial subsets. Those who can afford to buy a house and are opting out and those who would love to buy a house but are saddled with so much college debt, low paying jobs and high rents they aren't able to afford buying a house at present.