My grandmother was eighty-one and beginning to transition her real estate holdings. She had been teaching me for years, and I had been learning the way I learned everything — by paying close attention.
When she mentioned that a small commercial building she owned in the neighborhood where my parents now lived had lease renewals coming up, I made her a proposal.
“Let me buy the building from you,” I said. “Fair market value. Then let me manage the renovation and the lease negotiations.”
She studied me with those sharp blue eyes.
“You want to be your mother’s landlord.”
“Indirectly. The medical practice that’s expanding is my mother’s employer. If they renovate and grow, they’ll need more staff. They might promote from within if they have someone reliable.”
“You’re going to give her a better job?”
“I’m going to create a circumstance where she can earn a better job — if she can hold herself together long enough to deserve it. And if she can’t, she’ll spend her working life watching other people get promoted while she stagnates. Either way, the irony is complete.”
