It was one photo, taken 10 years ago, that both reminded me of the passage of time and the perceived immortality enjoyed by youth.

Picture a marginally stable electric scooter: small wheels, narrow deck and a motor probably too large for the structural integrity of the vehicle. Duct-taped on top of the scooter was an 18-by-18 feet, square piece of wood. Taped to that was a foldable lawn chair. Perched on the chair, looking as proud as Henry Ford sitting on his first Model T, was a 9 or 10-year-old neighbor kid. Next to him was his younger brother, waiting his turn if his sibling survived.

Evidently, 10 years ago, I had posted that photo on Facebook with the caption “What could possibly go wrong?” The photo and caption reappeared as a 10 year “memory.” The child in question is gone from the hood, perhaps in college, but I had his Dad’s cell phone number. I texted him the photo and he reminded me that I wrote a column about the children and contraption. He asked if I had a copy.

I scrolled through this and another publication to see if I could find the column. In truth I seldom search myself, so it was surprising how much stuff came up — some true, some unflattering. Along with old columns, hate mail and one police report of a crime — that was later found to be committed by an elderly albino lookalike — was the column in question. I sent it off without reading.   

But, while scouring the logs, I also found other columns I had written memorializing young folks in my hood.

There was a column, written about 12 years ago and featuring our neighbor Luke, then about 7 or 8. Ellie and I were sitting outside when we looked up to see Luke peeing in his front yard. We cracked up. I was tempted to do the same but Ellie insisted I go inside. Luke’s family moved away long ago; he just graduated from the University of Colorado.

Another story featured Rex and Cody, who would do laps around the hood on their bicycles making motorcycle sounds with their mouths. I remembered doing the same with my friends when I was their age. Have you noticed I have not mentioned any of those kids were supervised? Their parents wisely decided that as long as they stayed near home, their children would be safe, happy and more importantly, free.

There was one kid in the hood who did seem to be observed.  

One day I answered the door and Dawn and Max were standing on our front steps. Dawn said, “Jeffrey, Max has something he wants to say to you.” Max stepped forward and said, “Jeffrey, I’m sorry I peed on your driveway.” His mother seemed to approve until he added, “But, I really had to go.” Max’s confession came as no surprise. About 15 minutes earlier, I was working on my bicycle in my garage. I looked up and Max had jumped off his scooter and was relieving himself on my driveway.

Hoping to make Max feel better I told him I would often do the same thing but, being an adult, I wait until after the sun sets. Max and Dawn left my porch with only one of them happy with me.

When we moved to our current home, over two decades ago, we were surrounded by families. Since we didn’t and don’t have a TV, often our entertainment was watching the kids play in the street, fall off bikes or skateboards and relieve themselves publicly.

Now, it is rare to see children. My hood has gotten to the point where few families can afford to live here. 

The first day home after a 6-week spring camper trip, I was biking down a nearby street and noticed that where just weeks ago there were some cool homes, there are now vacant lots. The same homes that some of my friends loved, raised kids and sold, were scrapped and soon will be rebuilt larger and more fancy. Homes that once housed families will be beautiful second homes used only sporadically by the very wealthy. 

For all the changes, I’m sad but non-judgmental. People do what they must to live, survive and hopefully thrive in this wonderful place. Kids grow up and families cash out.

If nothing else, it provides a sense of appreciation for families who managed to stay and make it work. And thankful for the amenities and programs that make it possible for families to feel vested, if not in my hood, in others.

Ellie and I sat outside tonight watching the sunset. Just before she headed in the door Ellie said, “For God’s sake, don’t do that here. Go inside.”