Dad Digest: The Myth of the Man Cave

It started in 1993. Tim “The Tool Man” Taylor introduced the world to “The Man’s Bathroom”.  In the span of four minutes, my eleven-year-old mind was blown.  A few months later, they’d hit another home run with an episode centered on “The Man’s Kitchen”.  Two years later there was “The Man’s Bedroom.”  We were given the treat of stainless steel and the most current technology.

It’s a joke, a farce, a comedic exploitation of the differences between men and women.  At the same time, it is the seed of a revolution.  There is dream of a space, in the home, exclusively for the use of men.  This is not a place for glass figurines and family photos.  It is not a place for talking about feelings, or for the kids to stash their toys.  It is a utopia of comfort and utility.  See the original segments: “Man’s Bathroom” “Man’s Kitchen” “Man’s Bedroom”

Interestingly enough, it was around this same time that the phrase “Man Cave” came into use.  The title itself is pretty stupid, but the concept is nice.  Family is important, and families should spend time together doing family things.  Yet sometimes you need a place where you can go and forget about it all.  A guy needs a place where he can get a little peace and quiet every now and then.  When my wife and I purchased our house, we came to the agreement that the upstairs attic would serve as such a place for me.  In casual conversation, people tended to refer to it as my “Man Cave,” but to me, it was my own little slice of heaven.  It was the place to store my instruments and amps, mementos from my stint in high school and college as an amateur musician and song writer.  If I wanted to pluck out a few Silky Red Carpet songs, play along with a Misfits album, or try and write something new, I was free to do so.

It was the place to store my books.  As an English teacher and a bibliophile, I have lots and lots of books.  A person who loves books, also loves being able to display those books, scan the spins and reminisce about the wonderful times contained within.
It was also the place for my comic book collection, kept up, up and away where the typical visitor couldn’t see and scoff at it.
Most of all, it was a comfy and cozy place I could go to if I ever wanted just a little bit of quite time to read a book and take it easy while Jesika catches up on whatever Housewives are out of rehab or jail or whatever.

It lasted maybe a few months.

As I have mentioned before, we have a cat.  We had dogs.  The cat hates the dogs and needed a place for it to spend time comfortably.  I suggested the basement, but that was too dark and foreboding for our little kitty, and so she was given free reign of the attic.  At first, I didn’t mind sharing.  It wasn’t like the cat was going to dog-ear the pages of my Stephen King hardcovers.  She wasn’t going to damage the rating of my issue of The Incredible Hulk #340.  Yet, the more time the cat spent up there, the less time I could spend up there.  Regardless of how hard I tried to keep it clean, after about fifteen minutes in my little sanctuary my nose would start to get runny, and clog up at the same time, and it would be time to go.  If it was only offering fifteen minutes of satisfaction at a time, it was hardly worth the trouble going at all.

After the cat moved down into the basement, my green carpeted grotto didn’t return back to its original condition.  I decided to take one for the team and sacrifice it for the greater good of all.  Milo’s toys had completely taken over the first floor of our house, and as a way to eliminate the clutter, we converted our attic into a play room.  Of course, he’s a social kid and isn’t one to really go off and play on his own, but he gets plenty of use out of the place.

In fact, if you were to take a peek at it right now, it would probably look a little something like this…

Of course, the living room still looks like this…

So my sacrifice was all for nothing.

No more cavern of masculine seclusion for me.  Instead, I have to settle for space where I can find it.  So I have a “Man Nook” over in the corner where I keep lesson planning materials for work.  I have a “Man Top of a Bookshelf” where I stack the books I bring home to read.  I have a “Man Drawer” that holds the power cords to my Kindle and phone, and some envelopes that I really should have opened by now.  I also have two “Man Closets” which is where my assortment of books and comics now reside.  I suppose, if I really wanted to I could crawl inside one of them and close the door for some peace, but what is the point?  The battle is lost.  I guess I just have to wait to Milo and any future siblings are in college before I can truly dine on the slice of solitude pie promised to me by a sit-com dad in the days of my youth.

Like so many other dads out there, I’ll have to settle for being jealous of that one dude Vince Vaughn plays in all of those movies as he shows whatever cast he has been paired with his speakers, video games, pool table and kegerator.  At the end of the day, I don’t really mind.  I can take comfort in the fact that I don’t have a room in my house designed to send the message to my children than isolation and separation from the rest of the family is something to be coveted and sought after.  If I want some quiet and alone time, I’m just going to have to keep doing what I can only imagine dads have been doing for generations; stay up late and enjoy the quiet of everybody else in bed.