“Break down the door, this is our family’s apartment!” That was what my mother screamed a little after six in the morning, crowbar in hand, out in the narrow hallway of the place I bought with my VA loan. My sister stood beside her in pajama pants and anger, and my father hovered a step back with a paper coffee cup like he had shown up for a show instead of a break-in.
“Break down the door, this is our family’s apartment!” My mom and sister showed up at six a.m. with Dad,…