The cul-de-sac...

When I was younger, I lived on a cul-de-sac. In my opinion, a cul-de-sac is one of the best places for a child to grow up, especially if it has many children on the street, and multiple sturdy climbing trees.  A cul-de-sac has very little traffic, and the traffic it does have has to slow down.  The bulb is a wide open space, perfect for baseball, basket ball, hockey, and tag.  Children only have to glance down the road, and if they see a car turn onto the street while a game is going on, there is a resounding a chorus of young voices calling out, "Car!" and the game pauses as everyone clears off the street for a moment.  We used to spend hours every day outside, running, climbing, and riding our bikes. 

One of the best feelings of childhood is to play so hard you can feel your lungs, your face, your throat, and your legs burning. Your whole body tells you to quit, but your spirit, in the name of laughter, fun and competition, won't let you, because "IT" is right on your heels, and the last thing you want is to be "IT" next. You race for the designated tree, wrap your arms around it and cry, "Safe!"  And at that age, you are both naive enough and faithful enough to truly feel safe.  Finally, collapsing onto the grass, and rolling onto your back,  you gasp for air as you listen to your heart beat out the dance of endorphins, and watch the sky spin in response.  Air has never felt so crisp before. Cold water becomes sweeter than soda, and this time, the breeze really could pick you up and fly you away, and you would be delighted.  Everything throbs, your diaphragm aches like it might just quit this time, and there is sweat streaking down your face like a broken sprinkler, and yet you are having a blast. And being young, tomorrow you won't feel the consquences at all. 

We used to play until the sky darkened.  The smells of each household's dinner would creep out and mingle and, wrap itself around us. We would eek out those last streams of light. Some times we couldn't even see the puck during the last stretch of the game, but we had to get a few more goals in before the street light came on.  Then, sadly, the street light would switch on just as the residual glow of the sun began to fade, and we would tumble into our respective houses, and wonder why Mom insisted we needed baths. We felt great, why wash it off?  Later, we would drop into bed, and sleep a sleep so restful our adult selves should be jealous about it now.

Maybe adults should play tag more often. We might end up less stressed, sleep better, and be happier to see our neighbors.

I miss my cul-de-sac: the squealing, chasing, laughing, gasping, running, climbing, flying. I miss the unshakable belief in safety.  I miss the unconquerable confidence that allowed me to climb far too high on branches far too thin.  I miss the lack of long-term consequences. I miss gazing up at the sky and the security of truly feeling that when I talked to God, he heard me, every time.  The sky felt so close and immense, and so did God.  I miss the faith that if anything should ever go wrong, all I had to do was send Mom and Dad in, and they would talk it over with the offender and fix it, and then the problem would then dissolve into nothingness. I keep those times close at hand, because the memories are so good, and the feelings so comforting.

I'm glad I was one of the kids who got to grow up on a cul-de-sac. I am also glad that I grew up, even if growing up means having to eventually leave the cul-de-sac, face the traffic, lose the "safe" tree, learn that there is no "pausing the game" to let the traffic fly by, understand there are some things parents can't fix, stop climbing nearly as precariously, and occasionally feel like my prayers are going no where. 

There are growth spurts that you can't have in a cul-de-sac world, joys that you can't get from running, depths that cannot be gained before the street light comes on, stains that cannot be scrubbed away in baths, and heights that you can't reach by way of trees. There are adventures in the grown-up world that are much too big to fit in my cul-de-sac, and I'll take the lumps in exchange for those adventures.  Every once in a while, however, it's still nice to run until you can't breathe, and then keep running until all you can do is collapse, to pretend for a moment, that the cul-de-sac is back, and there really is a "safe" tree, and you really can fly, and to remember that God really is that immense and close, and he really is listening, no matter how grown-up you think you are.