1. COVER PAGE
TITLE
MY FAVORITE PLACE
WRITTEN IN CITY AND STATE OF
COLORADO SPRINGS, COLORADO
ESSAY TITLE
MY GRANDFATHER’S GARAGE
BY
HAYDEN N. LOUVIERE
S O U T H U N I V E R S I T Y E N G 0 0 9 : P R I N C I P L E S O F C O M P O S I T I O N

2. My Grandfather’s Garage
Nothing as a young child brings back more delicate memories than the
garage at my Grandfather’s house. This garage was so big to me as a child.
The garage was built on the house when they first built it in 1974. I can still
remember the old wood smell that came from the aged wood of the window
frame. The main door inside the garage that led to the inside of the house
was a dark faded brown color and also held that aged wood smell. The
second door that led to the laundry room was a white screen door, that
instead of a screen it was glass. Behind that screen door was a light brown
oak wood door that felt of a smooth clear coat. The garage was lined with
dark coral colored brick, that I still remember grazing my hands across when
I used to ride my bike with training wheels as a young boy. The brick felt
ridged, with sharp edges that left an imprint in your hand when you touched
it. The garage was enclosed with a white vinyl ceiling and a white roll up
garage door. This garage had one window to it and that is the window that
was lined with white painted aged wood.
In this garage is where my grandfather used to set up tables and chairs
all around and have the entire family over for dinner. My grandfather used to
set the two tables up in front of the window and top the tables with old
newspapers that he never got rid of. My grandfather would always open the
door to the garage to feel the nice breeze that blew through against your
skin. Not only was there a cool breeze that blew in, but as long as I can
remember the houseflies would love to embrace the feeling of being in the
garage as well. The dinners we shared as a family were heartwarming and
memorable. These dinners were heartwarming because of the inner feeling
you felt being in the presence of my whole family and knowing my
grandfather had taken care of everyone who has been in that garage. Usually
the dinners consisted of either a big black cast-iron pot of magnificent
tasting crawfish etouffee [ey-too-fey], steamy crawfish in a tomato based
sauce, just the smell would make your mouth water. Other dinners we would
indulge in were barbecued chicken, grilled on my grandfather’s pit, the taste
of the chicken was so juicy, and one bite into it the chicken would just slide
off the bone like a hot knife through butter. The final meal, and my personal
favorite, that we would eat as a family was boiled crawfish with potatoes
that mashed in your fingers, and crawfish boil filled onions that were cooked
so delicate that the skin peeled by just the touch.

3. This garage is where my grandfather sat many long days watching the
grandchildren and great grandchildren play with toys and many other toys.
My grandfather would sit in his old white chair just gazing at the street that
passed in front of the house and watch the cars drive by, as he would wave
slow and smooth, feeling the cool breeze blow against his frail skin. My
grandmother used to sit next to him in another white chair and sometimes
they would sit in silence just embracing the moment together, and
sometimes they would talk over a cup of hot coffee, a can of Dr. Pepper, or a
can of Coors light or O’Doul’s. Sometimes some of the family would go
over and just sit under the garage with my grandparents and talk about the
different complications in their life or the rewarding moments they had. I
remember as a young boy I would sit with my grandfather and he would just
look at me and smile, as if it was such a great moment for him, but as it
shows, that was some of my favorite moments in my life. The garage held
every piece of my past, from eventful heart breaks in the family to
intoxicated times and luminous days.
The things this garage sheltered at many times were a cyan colored
Buick Lacrosse, and at one point in time a flame colored 1989 Nissan
pickup. That 89’ pickup truck was, what I believed, my grandfathers pride
and joy. It was funny because I don’t ever remember the truck going over
thirty miles per hour, and every time we rode in it my grand father would
yell, “hold your hat!”, with his comb over waving out the window in the
wind. The garage also sheltered white silk smooth chairs, that were as old as
my grandfather himself, at least that is what I thought back in my young
days. At another point in time the garage sheltered my grandfathers green
John Deer tractor with a blade board attached to the rear, that my
grandfather used to cut his grass in. This garage also sheltered the toys that
the grandchildren and great grandchildren would come over and play with.
Foremost, this garage sheltered a family for many and many years.
During hurricane Katrina my grandfather played a big part in the
security of the family and ensuring everyone was housed and in a safe place
just incase the storm tore through the house. I remember sitting in the garage
with my grandfather and my father most of the night as we watched the
storm approach, as if there was a war on the horizon approaching us. We sat
there most of the night feeling the hellish winds blow on our faces. There
was horrendous fear in all of us as we watched the dark angry clouds fill the
black night sky, and the salty smelled air from the gulf graze against our
nose. We figured back then that the hurricane picked up that crystal salt

4. water from the Gulf and spread it upon the house like a pressure washer. I
can still remember the sound of the water pelting against the garage door,
and how the house quaked, rattling the garage window as those fierce winds
blew. That was most likely the scariest time for us as a family, but with the
security of my grandfather, we held little fear against the storm.
My grandfather was a very passionate and hard workingman,
supported his family at any cost. At one point in time my grandfather
basically had his own farm. He had chickens, he harvested eggs, and he
raised rabbits. All my life I have always known my grandfather to be outside
taking care of stuff around the yard, keeping the garage clean, and taking
care of his animals. Before he retired he worked at a shipyard where they
built boats, he was a welder and I believe I even seen an award in his house
for welding. Upon retiring he gained more time with his family and watched
his children have babies of their own. This man could always find a way to
make you laugh and engaged himself in every conversation, even if it was
the end of a conversation he would walk up and look completely intrigued,
as if he heard every word that was spoken. At the age of eighty, my
grandfather passed away, and what I find pretty interesting is that at my
grandfather’s funeral we talked about the times we spent with him and
mentioned times we spent in the garage observing my amazing grandfathers’
every moment we had the chance to engage in.
The memories I have from my grandfather’s garage are delicate to me,
not only because it is where I grew up, but also it is where I spent the last
days with my grandfather before he passed away. The garage is where I
spent most of my every waking moment with my grandfather. This garage is
memories for my books, those last days I spent with my grandfather were
mournful, but at the same time a tremendous memory I have. The memories
of this garage that I hold dear to me are the memories with my outstanding
grandfather. He was the greatest man of my lifetime. These fragile memories
I have left of my grandfather is now only in thought, today we don’t have
this garage to have as a remembrance of him. Upon my grandfather passing
away my grandmother didn’t like the idea of her living in such a substantial
home by herself with so many passionate memories to think about and weep
over, so she decided to move out of it and into a smaller house. I desired so
much to buy this house from my grandmother before she sold it, but I had no
chance of getting my hands on it. I know when I move back home I will pass
by that house that my grandparents lived in for some generation and the
memories of that garage and watching my grandfather sitting there at the

5. edge of that scratchy concrete paved garage, feeling the breeze blow against
his fragile skin, with is hand waving in the air, will wash over me like a
tsunami all over again.