Property Point 25 July

Some years ago, when my son Lincoln was aged about three or four, I was sitting on the couch watching TV and felt a tap on the back of my head.

Now, I was able to make the connection between my four-year-old son, the space at the back of the couch where he was now obviously crouching, and the tap on the back of my head.

But I went along with it, feigned surprise, rubbed the back of my head and slowly got up, giving Lincoln enough time to scurry out from behind the couch and tip-toe down the hallway to his bedroom.

I stood up and complained that something had hit the back of my head, loud enough for Lincoln to hear his confused father at a loss to understand what had happened.

About a week later it happened again. Again, after hitting the back of my head, Lincoln had quietly fled to his bedroom from where he could hear his befuddled father complain loudly that he had been hit on the head, note that there was nothing behind the couch and that “something weird is happening in this house”.

This prank of Lincoln’s went on for several years, probably once or twice a month.

As it evolved I would involve Lincoln in the mystery, tell him that sometimes when I’m sitting on the couch I would suddenly feel a hit on the back of my head.

I asked him to keep an eye out for anything strange in the house. He would then put on his best “concerned face” and commit to being on the look-out.

I said: “ I don’t know, I feel like there might be ghosts in this house.”

Over the next few years the hits got harder, no doubt adding to the hilarity.  I would cop the hit, rub the back of my head, complain loudly and slowly get up to look behind the couch to again see that no one and nothing was there.

I would then call out to my “ally”, Lincoln, and tell him I’d been hit on the back of the head again.
Now Lincoln is many wonderful things but a good actor is not one of them. One of the funniest memories I have of him as a little kid, and an example of his worst acting, is him coming out of his bedroom and walking down the hallway to me on hearing that I’d been hit again.

He would put on his concerned expression and rub his chin like a scientist pondering a theory but having to admit that even he couldn’t explain the strange events that had unfolded.

The prank eventually ended, probably around the time Lincoln got old enough to realise his father couldn’t be that stupid, and he is now 18 and living in Brisbane studying at uni.

He was back in his old bedroom during the recent semester break, although that has changed a bit because we are in the process of renovating and his room has largely been completed.

The bathroom has also been done and, over the next few months, the house will be done and we will probably sell it and downsize because both our kids have left home.

But with Lincoln home for his holiday, the house being renovated and the plans to sell the place, a bloke starts to think about what has happened there.

It’s a reminder that a property with bedrooms, a living area, a bathroom, a kitchen and a laundry goes from being a house to a home when you add the people that are close to you and experience life with them within those walls.

As a real estate agent, it’s also a reminder that when you sell someone’s family home, it’s not just a house but a living, breathing being where life played out, kids grew up, memories were created and love happened.

So selling it comes with a lot of responsibility.

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