Last spring, my phone buzzed with a text I was dreading, yet expecting from my younger son. He and three friends were on their way to meet a landlord at a house they were interested in renting the next fall. Hearing from my son didn’t cause me anxiety—I welcome texts, calls, even smoke signals from either of my sons. Instead, it was the dreaded feeling of horrible-housing Deja vu.
The spring before his senior year, his brother signed a lease for a house across the street from campus. (Aft...
Published on November 29, 2017 09:41