An Ode to a Man Cave

Now we have been chiilin here since 2002
Come on Boy I thought you knew/
If you coming to the Hole you must come prepared
Or end up on the floor in your underwear.

                                                     ~Arias, The Car Hole

I would never say my cousin Mike is a genius. He does though, on occasion, have brilliant ideas. Turning the garage into a man cave was one of those brilliant ideas. My cousin Mike, having just graduated high school, wanted a place that he and his buddy's could hang out, play their music, clown on each other, and wouldn't cost an arm and a leg to do so.  The bar scene was not an option and frat parties with overbearing frat brothers, endless lines for drinks or the bathroom, and the radio hip hop that was in constant, nauseating rotation didn't interest him that much. He took a step outside into the backyard and saw what would become his new playground- The Garage. It was a perfect setup. His parents didn't use it for their cars, there was a fridge, couches, and with the door down the loud music barely penetrated through. It was a go. And so in the summer of 2001 my cousin and all of us embarked on a journey that transformed this garage from a storage unit of knick knacks and keepsakes to a prohibition style speakeasy, to its present musuem-esque state of a man cave. It was such a success it inspired poetical genius from friends that spent a time or summer hanging out in the garage.

Coming home from college I was excited to party and hang out with my cousin Mike like we always had. I was new into the bar scene and loved to go out to college frat parties. I was always chasing the nightlife going from party to party; bar to bar. My thinking was you had to go out if you wanted to have fun and get girls. Not true according to my cousin. So when my cousin suggested hanging out in the garage I was skeptical into how that could be fun. My cousin assured me that we would have good time. He was right.

The garage was entirely something of our own. A not so private club akin to a prohibition style underground lair for those who did not abide by the law. But instead of a secret code to gain entrance you just had to knock on the garage door. It was a place where you went to be yourself and didn't have to put on heirs to impress a person of the opposite sex. A person didn't have to worry about the rules of a house party and it getting broken up at 11 then having to wander around the rest of the night looking for another party that you may or may not get into. The garage erased all of the expectations and miscues that accompany a night of going out. You didn't have to go out looking for a good time when you could just bring it to your own private domain. It was as if we were the Goonies and we had found One Eyed Willies treasure in the form of a sanctuary of freedom all of our own.

The garage became a known place amongst our friends. Then it became a known place amongst their friends. People new to the garage would come inside and give a face like they just whiffed a baby's diaper. You could tell they were thinking, "Where has my friend dragged me to? Is there no party or bar we can go to, instead?" Within a half hour they were hooked. They saw the endless possibilities that the garage provided. You can be yourself and just let loose. It wasn't wall to wall people, the noise level was fair, and the best part was their was no waiting behind a velvet rope for some bouncer to deem you worthy and there was no closing time. You could sleep on the couch or leave at your own time.Nobody was kicking you out here. How could you not enjoy that?

My cousin had a hit on his hands. If it had been better insulated, the garage was freezing at night time, my cousin would have lived out there. The couches were full of people, liar's dice and hold'em were the preferred games, we played underground hip hop from People Under the Stairs, Atmosphere, and Living Legends to name a few. My cousin and his friends would occasionally test their rap skills(a time honored tradition for suburban white kids) and the rest of us would sit back and listen before giving our feedback.  The life and energy that pumped through the walls was what made the garage a special place for us. The garage began to take on a life of its own and we were all enjoying the ride.

As time passed on and my cousin Mike and then my cousin Joey, who inherited the garage from his older brother, moved out, the garage no longer was the same. It was not needed anymore to host the private party's now that my cousins had their own place. They now had a house to have a party. From time to time we would head to the garage to relive the nights, but those days were few and very far between. Much like the giving tree that gave so much of itself to the little boy we had used up the garage and now there was no use for it.

My Uncle Alex took the opportunity, with his son's away, to turn the garage into his own personal man cave. He began to hang up the sports collectibles that we had gathered over the years- the jersey's, the posters, the team hats and adorn them upon the walls of the garage. He added two TV's to go with the big screen for a total of three. He took the couches out and replaced them with a circle of chairs. My Uncle was creating the ideal man cave, an ode to the sports bar, complete with his parent's 1960's wooden bar, with the idea of hosting whoever came over for Sunday football.

The garage was transforming again. A breathe of fresh air was being put into it that would rekindle the days and nights we had spent enjoying it. However, it was becoming more than a sports bar for Sunday. It was becoming a museum of our past. My Uncle put out small knick knack's of our childhood from my cousin's art projects, Where's Waldo and Cabbage Patch Kid dolls, to his own collection of beer stein's. Atop the big screen TV is a Crosley Super 8 Radio with leather knobs that use to catch the baseball games in the early 1950's. An Elvis canister and music box with The King playing the guitar sits to the left of the radio. Neon beer lights hang from the other side of the garage providing a glow that is reminiscent of the many late night's we use to bask in as the morning light would slowly creep in through the windows.

Not a Sunday goes by where a garage artifact does not catch someone's eye or curiosity. That curiosity inevitably turns into a story or discussion of the significance of that particular piece. That in turn leads to another humorous story or revelation that will take us so far down a path that we no longer can recall the initial cause for the discussion. Being in the garage is like turning the pages of a scrap book, except that the scrap book is surrounding you, engulfing you with memories and nostalgia ranging from decades ago to the not so distant past.

Sitting in the garage you can still feel its pulse, the steady beat of this nest that housed the inhibitions of kids and now chronicles the accomplishments and memories of a family. We still gather in the garage on Sunday's, but now we are adults- married, with kids, and responsibilities. A far cry from the late nights when our only concern was with having a good time and hanging out with our friends. Yet, the garage still has the allure of a playground providing fun and excitement, but that is now passed onto a new generations of kids that play in the garage with the old toys that once brought us joy. The past meeting the present.

Don Henley, singing lead for the Eagles, once sang in the band's hit, Hotel California, "You can checkout any time you like, But you can never leave!"  As I leave the garage, another Sunday football day over, I know the days of my life are changing. Much like the garage I am transforming as a person. The days of chasing the night have gone, replaced now by the ever-growing memories of a yesterday that will forever have a hold on me. A piece of me forever engrained into the spirit and legacy of The Garage. How could you ever leave that? You can't.