THE CLUBHOUSE

was before Man Caves. But we always had one growing up.

Maybe the best was our old coal bin. I remember when we had a coal furnace. It was green and had to be loaded. And cleaned. The cinders hauled out to the alley.

But when we changed to gas, the bin was emptied, cleaned and painted. It served as a clubhouse for years for me and my nieces.

It was perfect. It was ours. It was somewhat separated from the world of adults. It was cool in the Summer. It was a place for kids to hang. Lots of comic books were read there. Lots of plans. Lots of dreams.

We had other neighborhood clubhouses, too. One of the best was in an old incinerator. A floor of straw on top of concrete and a plywood roof, it sure seemed big enough back then, but it couldn't have been any larger than 8 x 10. I know we seated 5 or 6 in there, but we didn't seem crowded.

Another clubhouse was the foxhole. Somehow the Collins brothers convinced their mom to let them dig a huge foxhole in the backyard for army games. No estimation on the size, but it seemed to take most of their good size backyard. When it rained, we had to wait for clubhouse meetings. We only had the foxhole one Summer, but it was worth it, and I never heard of another anywhere.

Clubhouse, man cave, den, garage--we still have our private or semi-private places that are ours and ours (mostly) alone. We need them for validation. For escape. For whatever we want.