ISS BLOG - Unpacking the Past: The Role Self-Storage Played in My Formative Years and Many Fond Memories

Whenever I travel back to my home turf of Long Island, New York, I arrive with a mental list of things to do, food to eat and places to see. This list represents a nostalgic walk down memory lane, bringing back good feelings about the place where I was born and raised.

Among those places that I typically want to see are the house I grew up in, the schools I attended, and a self-storage facility in the neighboring town. Yes, a storage facility. I can’t tell the story of my childhood without it.

A Formative Space

My father was an electrical contractor for nearly 40 years. Shortly after I turned 13, he presented me with my first tool belt, and I began working with him as an electrical helper on weekends and during school vacations.

His business was small initially, and he stored his tools and materials on one side of our two-car garage. As time went on, the business grew, and so did the amount of stuff that needed to be stored. Eventually, he outgrew the garage and started renting a drive-up storage unit 10 minutes from the house. I would spend a lot of time there over the years.

The Selden, New York, self-storage facility where I spent much of my formative years.

Every day, me and my buddy, Mike, who was the more experienced electrical mechanic, would meet with my dad at the house to get our assignment. Once our task at hand was laid out, we’d drive to the storage unit to load our truck with the things we needed. Then we’d hit the road, ready to tackle whatever awaited us that day.

The storage unit also served as a crude conference room for our end-of-the-day meetings. We would congregate in a circle, sitting on empty spackle buckets that were flipped upside down to become stools, and talk about the day. The camaraderie we built in that makeshift space was filled with laughter and sometimes tension, depending on how well things went (or didn’t go). To this day, Mike and I share stories about some of those conversations with my feisty father that turned into memorable moments.

One of my responsibilities was to monitor the general supplies on the truck and replace them from the storage unit when they ran low. I’d walk up and down the aisles of shelves, clipboard in hand, and check all the bins and boxes. If I noticed that we needed something, I’d give my dad a list at the end of the week, so he could place an order with his supply house. This wasn’t especially fun during the summer when the near 100-percent humidity turned the unit into a sweltering hot box! I would stagger out of the unit wearing a sweat-soaked shirt.

The storage unit also allowed me to manage my side hustle. In the back corner we kept a pile of scraps ranging from 14-gauge to thick commercial wire. Many pieces were too short to use, so my dad would have me strip off the rubber coating with a utility knife and collect the bare copper for the nearby scrap yard. I was paid by the pound, which supplemented the $3 per hour I earned when I first started and helped fund my baseball-card addiction.

Nostalgia and Modern Life

While my memories of using self-storage were first formed more than 40 years ago, I see how contractors today still use units to efficiently manage their materials and equipment. Much like when my dad first rented space, these units continue to provide a secure and convenient location to store tools, supplies and inventory.

I recently took another trip to Long Island to see my dad, who’s now 78, retired and dealing with serious health issues. During my short stay, I took a drive by that same storage facility and was met with a mix of emotions. I felt sad because I was reminded of my dad’s virility when he was younger and a successful electrician. I also smiled a little inside as some of the memories I had made there popped into my mind.

It might seem unusual to pair self-storage with nostalgia, but I find it impossible to recount a significant chapter of my childhood without bringing it into the conversation. The unit not only served as a warehouse for my dad’s materials but as a source of countless memories and experiences that helped shape who I am today.