For the first time in my life I am considering buying a house. I am considering this because I do not have a place to live.

Oh, do not worry. I have a place to sleep. Primarily, because I will happily sleep anywhere. And have proven this fact.

After giving up my apartment of 8 years in late Spring, I have crossed our nation doing charity work, consulting work, real estate work and no work at all while traveling with my son, Gabriel.

In these 110 days or so since giving up my dwelling, I have slept in more than 50 places. Lets see if I can get my mind around the places I crashed in this “hot summer 07″. There have been Indian motels (both Native and Asian), hotels, cars, vans, campgrounds, bungalows on golf properties, a friends guest house on an island in Washington state, a friends place in California, 4 nights with my Uncle at Folly Beach, 7 nights with one older brother at his condo, 10 nights with another older brother in Tacoma, 2 nights on a friends couch at the Isle of Palms, 2 nights on the floor at my Ex-wife’s house, and the past 10 or so nights at a friends vacant house directly across the street from where I lived the past 8 years. I have traveled over 15,000 miles and now am directly across the street from where I started. I am officially homeless and I have become a mooch. OK, a friendly mooch. It was not my intent, just reality.

I’ve joked that my goal is to keep mooching off my friends and neighbors, not pay rent or a mortgage until I have all the cash I need to buy a house outright with cash.

This may sound New Agey, dopey or dumb but I just knew that if I gave up what I was clinging to, I would end up in the proper place.

And I know this is selfish, my being an Orphan worker, non-materialist, humanist and all… but I want a place to live.

A home where I am not at the whim of a landlord, or a woman. A place where all I must do is pay the mortgage, insurance, flood insurance, wind insurance, city tax, state tax and federal tax. Or they kick me into the street. Just like a landlord, with even more responsibility.

People say “Why did you give up your $500 apartment in a great part of town?”.

It just felt like time. The new owner landlord is the 45 year old daughter of my former landlord. (My old landlord, 86, now lives in a very nice assisted living home with his wife. I get to see them often) Any way, the daughter decided to gut the big house in which I had a 2 room apartment so that she and her family could move in to the whole house and do away with the 2nd floor apartments in which I had lived the past 8 years.

The daughter will put nearly a million dollars into “modernizing” the home. In the time I lived there, we put approximately $300 into modernizing the home with a new refrigerator.

Don’t get me wrong. The daughter is a sweet lady and I have considered her a friend. She even kindly offered me the 220 square foot “guest house” in the back at my old rent but somehow being a middle aged guy, moving into an even smaller space while living in the backyard of a family did not appeal to me. It seemed somehow undignified. Almost as if I was some sort of lucky troll that the Landlord family passes down from generation to generation.

Also my own child, Gabriel (12) is getting bigger, rather than smaller. Frankly, there was just no way that the two of us could have fit in that guest house at the same time. One of us would have to sleep outdoors. On his nights with me, I suppose he would get the guest house and I would camp in the van. (I borrowed a friends van without backseats because I left my car in Seattle.) Everything is going perfect!

All of this, vagabonding makes me realize that I would LOVE an actual home. All I care is that it is over 220 square feet. I would like it big enough so that Gabriel has his very own room. And nothing more.

I often feel that much of the worlds violence comes about because of peoples insecurity about not having a home, a place to feel secure, a place that will be theirs for generation to generation. I see it time and again in places like Palestine. In South Africa and Rwanda. And while I am not yet driven to violent outbursts…I sure would like a place to call home.

I work every day. I pay taxes. I am the working poor, with an emphasis on both “working” and “poor”. And, just like other working poor, I’d sure like a place to sleep at night.

About a year and a half ago, a pal, Bill Davis, told me about a program being run by the City for low and moderate income people to help people get their first homes. The “Homeowner Initiative Program” was looking for long time Charleston residents that had been “priced out” of the Charleston markets. The homes are former run down properties in the East Side of town that had been declared uninhabitable. Then the City came in and fixed the homes to code and are now selling them to “qualified” buyers at prices from $110,000-$160,000. Not exactly, give away prices but much cheaper than anything else available in the Charleston area.

One caveat to buying these homes is that you cannot sell it for 100 years. The intent is that you pass it down from generation to generation, giving a family a secure foothold in the city in which they have lived.

It sounds great to me. I’m not looking to make money. Never have been. I am looking for a place to sleep. A place to love. A place to be a good neighbor. And a place to pass down to my son. Passing a home to my son sounds better than almost anything I can imagine, personally.

I went and saw one of these 800 foot bungalows with an agent.

Did I mention that these homes are in the center of our towns worst ghetto?

Did I mention that some residents looked at me like “What the Hell are you doing around here Whitey? Do you want drugs…or are you a real estate speculator??? Either way, I hate you!”

Did I mention that no one seems to be buying these homes and some have sat on the market for long periods?

Naturally, I very much want one of these homes.

I have cruised by this bungalow at 7 AM, 7 PM and midnight to get a feel for the neighborhood at night. It is spitting distance from a renowned motorcycle gangs club and equally close to renowned drug dealing locales.

All I know is that I feels like home.

An agent showed me a “condo” for sale under this program on Daniel Island, cloistered and safe…99.98% Caucasian. I couldn’t wait to leave. I didn’t feel that I belonged there at all.

Some dream big. I dream of a Little Bungalow In The Ghetto. Should I call it a “Bun-ghetto”. Or a “Ghetto-low”.

All I know is that I will happily call it home. For me and my son.