The January frost on my car windows wasn’t just outside that morning. It was inside too. Living in your car in Chicago winters will teach you that. As I scraped both sides of the windshield, my hands numb despite my gloves, I thought about how a divorced dad of two had ended up here.
Six months earlier, I had it all – a nice rental apartment, a steady job as a mechanic, and weekend custody of my kids, Amy (9) and Marcus (11). Then the layoffs hit, and the rent kept rising. Within three months, I had to make a choice between feeding my kids and keeping a roof over my head. The car became my home, while my kids stayed with their mom full-time.
“Dad, why can’t we come over anymore?” Marcus would ask during our daily phone calls. The pain in his voice hurt more than the cold ever could.
Then came the day that changed everything. While fixing a customer’s brake pads at my new, lower-paying job, I overheard him talking about “house hacking.” He was living for free by renting out rooms in his home. My curiosity sparked, I asked him more during his lunch break.
That conversation led to countless hours at the public library, using their computers to research FHA loans, house hacking strategies, and real estate forums. I learned that I could buy a duplex with just 3.5% down, live in one unit, and rent out the other. The rental income could cover the mortgage – maybe even more.
But 3.5% might as well have been 100% when you’re living in your car. Still, I started saving. Every extra hour at the garage, every oil change tip, every dropped coin I found while cleaning cars – it all went into my savings account. I ate once a day, usually at the dollar menu, and showered at the gym where I’d gotten the cheapest membership possible.
My kids knew I was “working on something big.” I couldn’t bear to tell them where I was really living. Their mom knew, though, and in a rare moment of post-divorce kindness, she didn’t tell them either.
Four months later, I had saved $4,300. Not enough for a duplex in a good area, but then I found it – a run-down duplex in an up-and-coming neighborhood. The seller was an elderly woman moving to Florida, and the price was well below market. Even my real estate agent thought I was crazy. “This place needs work,” she warned. I just smiled. I was a mechanic – fixing things was what I did.
The day I got approved for the FHA loan, I cried in my car – the same car that had been my home for seven months. But this time, they were different tears.
The duplex was a mess. I spent every free moment fixing it up – painting, repairing, learning plumbing through YouTube videos. My kids came to help on weekends, thinking it was just Dad’s new project. Marcus turned out to be a natural with a paintbrush. Amy became the organization queen, keeping our tools in perfect order.
Then came move-in day. I hadn’t told the kids I was taking the downstairs unit. Their faces when they saw their newly decorated rooms – Marcus’s in Chicago Bears colors, Amy’s in ballet pink – that moment alone was worth every frozen morning, every skipped meal, every callus on my hands.
The upstairs unit? I found a quiet graduate student who paid enough in rent to cover 85% of my mortgage. I was essentially living for free in my own home.
But the real magic happened three months later. A neighbor approached me about their duplex – they’d seen how I’d transformed mine. Would I be interested in managing theirs? Better yet, would I want to buy it? They’d owner-finance with a small down payment.
Today, two years later, I own three properties. The rental income not only covers all my mortgages but provides an extra $2,000 monthly. I still work at the garage – not because I have to, but because I love it. The difference is, now I’m building generational wealth while doing what I love.
Last week, Marcus, now 13, asked me to teach him about house hacking for his school’s entrepreneur club presentation. “Dad,” he said, “remember when you were fixing up this place and we thought you were just being creative? You were actually building our future, weren’t you?”
I hugged him tight, thinking about those cold mornings in the car. “Yeah, buddy,” I said. “Sometimes you have to be creative to build something special.”
Amy, my practical 11-year-old, has already started her own savings account for her “future duplex.” She tells anyone who’ll listen about how her dad “hacked” his way to success.
The frost still comes every winter in Chicago, but now I watch it from inside my warm home, usually with a cup of coffee and rental property listings spread across my kitchen table. Sometimes, I go sit in my car early in the morning, not because I have to, but to remember. To remember that rock bottom can become a foundation if you’re willing to build on it.
P.S. That first duplex? The elderly seller recently came back to visit her old neighborhood. When she saw what I’d done with the place, she hugged me with tears in her eyes. “This is what it deserved,” she said. “This is what you deserved.” Sometimes the best investments aren’t just in properties – they’re in proving to yourself, and your kids, that any obstacle can be overcome with creativity, determination, and a willingness to learn.
