Realtor Kids

Painting Open House Signs Last Year

I have two kids who have been in the real estate business--involuntarily--for their entire lives. As Realtor kids, my children don't walk on other people's grass. They wipe their feet before they enter. They know during a showing not to make a disparaging comment about even the most ghastly house--because you never know who may like it. They don't talk about the safety of the neighborhood even if they see a drug bust going down right next door.

Polly and Buckaroo have done their fair share of helping me fold flyers, entertain client's children and all sorts of other tasks. Because Buckaroo is more interested and he has more time, he gets the brunt of the work. Even El Jefe has hired him out. This past week I dragged him to Jane's new listing where he, Jane's daughter, Jane and I moved furniture and staged the home in time for the photographer to show up and do his magic.

Buckaroo has also been known to put out flyers for my open houses. When he was younger, I could recruit him and a few friends who would go through the neighborhood on their scooters, passing out pamphlets for Saturday's open house. Their price: ice cream sundaes.

One time I brought Buckaroo with me because my clients had a precocious six year old who would never let his parents have a moment of peace when they were looking at properties. Let's face it, when one is looking to spend a quarter of a million dollars on a home it might be a good idea to be able to think in peace. So, in exchange for two decks of Pokemon cards (he insisted he earned TWO decks) and lunch with Mom (Olive Garden), Buckaroo donned a collared shirt and walked up to my clients, a smile on his face and with an extended hand and said, "Hello Mr. Miller, My name is Buckaroo. May I play with Tony in the park right over there?" And then he pointed to the park, within view. Mr. and Mrs. Miller exchanged glances, that suggested perhaps Buckaroo's politeness might possibly rub off on Tony and then bid them both farewell. (Note, it did not rub off on that kid. Unfortunately).

When Polly was about three, I took her with me for a friend's showing (with the permission of the parents). They had a daughter Polly's age and the two girls were good friends. Polly and I arrived early, turned on the lights and previewed the house. When my clients arrived Polly ran right over to Katie and grabbed her hand. Dragging her through the driveway ("Don't walk on the grass Katie. It isn't your house.") Polly said, "Do you like pink? There is a pink bedroom." And then stopping at the front door, she ordered, "Wipe your feet." Once inside, both girls raced to the back of the house where Polly proudly showed off the pink bedroom.

Buckaroo has told me he thinks being a firefighter would be really cool, and on his off days, he could sell houses. The firefighter income pays the bills. The real estate income is for investing. Polly has made it abundantly clear she will never, ever, EVER sell homes. (Never say Never Polly!). When I asked her why she wouldn't consider joining the family business she said, "I don't think I want to deal with the crazies." Well, there is that.