Social Capital and the Garage

Sorry I didn't write yesterday, but I hosted the weekly garage barbecue at my humble roost last night so I was a little busy.

In our neighborhood the garage serves as a social gathering place, just as the front porch did back in the day.  If I leave my garage door open, it means I'm open for visitors, and the visitor is expected to stay for at least one beverage (to that end, all garages are outfitted with a second refrigerator to accommodate visitors).

A combination of storage space and "man cave," each garage on the street tells a little about the owner.  Chris for example: a dockers-wearing network contractor by day and mad network scientist by night, his garage is filled with computer parts, wireless contraptions, and a golf simulator.  Dan, on the other hand, actually keeps his cars in his garage (perish the thought) but maintains a sizable shop on the side.  As for me, I've got cheap racks holding brewing equipment, military gear, and kids toys, but you'll never actually find a vehicle inside.  Our garage fridges also represent different tastes, from Chris's IPAs, Dan's Mexican lagers, to my stouts.  And the music's different, too:  Chris favors Hip Hop and R&B, while I pump jazz through the lawnmower-scented air and Marlon plays Parliament-Funkadelic over his latest driveway auto project.

But simple visiting has nothing on the garage barbecues that cover our neighborhood with smoke every weekend.  In fact, I can't think of a single weekend this summer where we haven't gone to or hosted a garage barbecue ("summer" being measured by the day the first person waters their lawn).  Arguably it's terrible for my waistline and liver, and I'm sure Martha Stewart wouldn't approve of us dishing potato salad out of plastic containers; but I haven't experienced this level of neighborhood interaction since.... well, never!  The closest would probably be when I was stationed as an enlisted man at Fort Polk, Louisiana.  Lord knows I've never seen officers spontaneously gather in such fashion.

So while scholars such as Robert Putnam study the decline of American social capital, at least in our neighborhood I see a microcosmic resurgence:  and frankly, I'm loathe to return to the days of hiding behind a closed garage.  Such interaction builds trust and cooperation, like watching out for each other's kids, or checking on each other's homes if someone leaves town.  In a closed garage culture it's only about the world behind the door, not interaction with those you can readily see from your living room window.

Overall last night went well:  we polished off a mess of chicken leg quarters, quarts of beer and soda, and finished the night discussing religion and music over tumblers of Knob Creek.  A couple boxes of Little Debbie Snack Cakes were also killed in the process.

And when Chris came by this morning to pick up his chairs, he already had a barbecue in mind at his roost for next Friday.

So what are you waiting for?  Open your garage door.  And who knows... Chris, Dan and I just might show up!

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