A few years ago, my older son asked if his friend Mark could stay with us temporarily. Mark was a business student at a nearby college, and his campus housing had fallen through. With the semester about to start, he had nowhere else to turn. Moving in with us was a short-term solution.
Mark is still here.
Not long after, another friend of my sons stayed with us for the summer, sleeping on a sofa bed in an unused study. Then came another, who worked part-time delivering parcels, and needed a place to crash on nights he was too tired to drive the 30 miles home.
My home has unintentionally become something of a frat house. In addition to my two sons, aged 20 and 23, there are often two to four additional young men living here at any given time. They might be between jobs and homes, or visiting from another state. Their friends and girlfriends pop in regularly. Weekends can be raucous. Poker, video games, pizza deliveries, and booming laughter fill the house. I love it — mostly.
Our house needed some new energy
This unusual living arrangement, however, began with a much more altruistic intention. The passing of my husband a few years ago left a giant void in the lives of my sons.
Suddenly, our home, a place once filled with my husband’s gregarious spirit, felt painfully empty. It didn’t help that our house is large and quiet, perched on a hill miles from the city’s bustle that might have brought some life and energy to the space. The lighting is dim, and at night, the only sounds we hear are the hoot of an owl or the distant yelp of a coyote. To some, this might be appealing, more of a peaceful retreat. But for two young men, mourning the sudden loss of their father, the seclusion that once felt familiar now only amplified their grief. They felt isolated.
“I think it will be good for us,” my older son said when he made his case for Mark. “We need somebody else around.”
He wasn’t wrong. As soon as Mark moved in, the energy of the house shifted. He didn’t just bring his personal belongings — he brought a sense of novelty and a whole new social dynamic. He and my sons, all roughly the same age, shared similar interests, making it feel almost like having a third brother under the roof.
The same could be said for every new tenant since, they’re always genuine friends. Respect for me and the house rules are non-negotiable: these include no drugs of any sort, asking my permission to have anyone over, and cleaning up after themselves. As a practicing Hindu, there are many days of religious significance that I observe, and on those days I ask these young men not to cook or consume animal products in the house. Short showers, full loads of laundry, turning the lights off, I expect them all to follow the basic tenets of inhabiting someone else’s space.
It’s not always easy, but that’s OK
So far, the benefits of having these guests have far outweighed the inconveniences. Sure, I’ve had to navigate the occasional pile of dirty sneakers left carelessly on the floor or lecture about platters crusted with spaghetti sauce tossed in the sink. To manage the chaos, I set up a lost and found box to stash stray items in. Contact lens solution, jackets, random chargers, and anything else not claimed within a month gets tossed out.
In place of rent, I ask them to take on a variety of chores. I create group chats with whoever is living here at the time, including my sons. Together, we monitor who’s walked and fed the dog, collected yard waste, or taken out the trash. One of our guests rented professional rug and upholstery equipment on my behalf, another cleared out my garage and sold my unwanted items on Craigslist. They’ve driven me to the airport, moved furniture, and done some house painting. One, who worked part-time in a restaurant, has made dinner a number of times.
Mostly, these young adults are just grateful for a place to live — whether it’s for a few months, or, like Mark, three years. And I’m grateful for the built-in camaraderie my boys get to come home to.
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