Down Under

My parents were the ones who regularly hosted a house full of teenagers. Initially, my older brother's friends and then mine, moving on until the last crew that came through were my younger brother's pals. The idea being, as I understand it, that hanging around in our basement gave my parents a sense of what we might/could be up to. My parents were the "cool ones" who mostly kept their business upstairs, but always had a solid sense of what was going on beneath them.
As for us, the teenagers, none of us were trying get away with anything. We tended to congregate a our house because of the relative comfort of the surroundings. The concrete bunker that was for many a second home kept our music and video games from becoming a burden to those around us. Our neighbors were aware of the cars parked in front of the house but not so much about what the occupants were doing inside.
Laughing, joking, listening to Pink Floyd, playing Atari. Playing in general. Kids doing what kids do. Every so often, my father would come downstairs and challenge one of my friends to a ping pong game. Then he would head back upstairs where my mother was patiently waiting for the evening's entertainment to come to an end.
Sometimes the doorbell would ring and somebody else's father would be at the door. That was the first time I met my eventual father-in-law. He had come looking for his daughter, who at the time was dating my best friend. For a moment, a chill went through us all. What would happen if he came downstairs? The pleasant balance of trust and adolescence was disturbed. Happily, she made it up the stairs to meet her father and be taken home to wait until such time that she could come back without that long arm of authority disrupting our inner sanctum. Legend suggests that once upon a time my mother's mother hosted her daughter's friends in a similar fashion. The legacy of this home away from home has quite the history.
And somewhere in there must have been planted the seed that became our own basement. Once my wife and once upon a time best friend's girlfriend married and started a family, we became those parents who hosted basements full of teenagers. We knew where they were, and had a pretty solid sense of what was going on beneath us. I would not kid myself to believe that our kid never did anything stupid or careless or indiscreet. My wife and I were happy enough to be the place where they came to rest, my son and his friends.
Which makes me believe that somewhere out there in our future is another basement where my son's kids will congregate with their kids. Because that's what we do.