The neighborhood treehouse was a meeting place where boys became men on their own terms.
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Imagine a treehouse firmly lodged in a big oak tree in the rear of your neighbor’s backyard. At first glance, it’s just a bunch of old boards nailed together in some semblance of a treehouse. It has seen several previous generations of boys through their rites of passage into manhood. A most unlikely place for a life development center, the neighborhood treehouse was a meeting place where boys became men on their own terms.
If that treehouse could talk, it would tell you of the innumerable hours spent by pubescent males discussing some of the great mysteries of the world: the stars and UFOs, how the girls in their class were growing faster than they were, and how many years before they could drive, to name a few.
If that treehouse could talk, it would tell you of the innumerable hours spent by pubescent males discussing some of the great mysteries of the world . . .
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As a young girl with pigtails, I envied the boys in my neighborhood who were part of a treehouse club. I would follow them to their prized domain in the woods where I would stand for hours at the foot of the ladder, begging to be part of their crew. I admired their sense of brotherhood and I too wanted to belong and be a part of the wonderful happenings behind that “No Girls Allowed” sign.
The foundation of adolescent friendships was solidified in this comradery. The treehouse was the place where boys took risks, exchanged secrets, and made promises to one another. Future leaders were developed and the world’s problems were solved by pseudo-superheroes.
The boy’s treehouse was his man cave. Secrets were shared that would never leave the lips of its inhabitants. Blood covenants were made for lifetimes with broken glass from soda bottles or rusty fishing knives. The daring competitions that often pushed the boys to try superhuman feats either strengthened their reserve and built their confidence or landed them in the local hospital emergency room.
The treehouse was the place where boys took risks, exchanged secrets, and made promises to one another.
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Now it stands vacant, awaiting new recruits who are inside their homes playing Xbox, mesmerized by the striking graphics that only mimic real life. Perhaps it’s time to bring the treehouse back to this generation of boys wandering into manhood.
The boys in that treehouse learned the true art of friendship. There, the secret club handshake or clandestine admission password marked their entry into Friendship 101. A boy could be transparent in this place because he knew his buddies had his back. They would tease him, but no one else could without experiencing the wrath of his fellow treehouse club members. “One for all and all for one!” was tattooed on the heart of every member of that club.
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We see this scenario duplicated in the present-day man cave where male bonding can take place in a space he can call his own. It is the adult version of a treehouse. Instead of second-hand rejects from the family house, the present-day man cave may be a well-equipped computer room or a study with a collection of rare and antique books. It may be an office used to discuss business start-up ideas with trusted mentors. Or it may be a workshop or a gardening shed.
However the adult’s man cave is equipped, the essence is much the same as the boyhood treehouse, where boys became men, and they learned the true art of friendship.
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Sports enthusiasts may make a man cave of the TV room during his sports season of choice. It becomes the popular spot for male bonding and healthy competition as one team defeats the other and takes home the bragging rights.
Sci-fi fans may make a theater of their man cave, decorated with movie posters and memorabilia. However the adult’s man cave is equipped, the essence is much the same as the boyhood treehouse, where boys became men, and they learned the true art of friendship.
I am the older sister of three brothers and the mother of two sons. I have seen my share of man caves. My brother has a loft (treehouse) that he calls his own. My older son’s man cave is a room with a huge big-screen TV with his favorite chair positioned just right for gaming. Reminiscent of the “No Girls Allowed” sign on the treehouse in my old neighborhood, women have to get permission to enter, including Mom. During the holiday season, this man cave is where all the men congregate and pontificate on what’s going on in the world . . . just as men did in their boyhood treehouse.
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Photo credit: Flickr/J P