Okay, for those of you who know me, or read this site on a semi-regular basis, you would know that I do what I can for the environment. I recycle. I try to drive less, and walk more. I try to remember my canvas bags when I shop. I try to buy organic when possible. We eat way less meat as a family. And we just generally try to consume less. We really are doing what we can to make less of an impact. But there is one environmentalist movement catching on out there that I just can't seem to get behind. The movement that I'm speaking of is the one that is doing away with the cul-de-sac.
Environmentalists say that cul-de-sacs use up too much land, "create car dependant zones where inhabitants spew four times as many green house gas emissions as downtown dwellers and cause traffic congestion on the limited number of collector roads." Cul-de-sacs also are more crime-ridden, and is more difficult to get firefighting, snow plow and other municipal services into them.
Ruining the environment isn't the only sin of suburbia and cul-de-sacs. According to this article, and others, people who dwell there are fatter, and more out of touch with their neighbors.
Because of these and other reasons, many urban and city planners are doing away with cul-de-sacs all together. And this my good friends, in my eyes, is a total and complete tragedy. And this is why.
You see, I grew up in a cul-de-sac. And it was awesome. In so many ways it defined my childhood. When I was in elementary school my parents moved two blocks. At the time it was completely devastating. Those two blocks meant a totally different world. Different friends, different ward, different life almost. And I suppose it was. But we moved from a street to a circle. And that was the clincher. One of the things that came with this change was night games. What are night games you ask? Well, probably only the most fabulous thing from my childhood. Honestly, I think its an eighties thing. I don't see kids outside doing this like we did.
Pretty much every night after dinner, all the kids in the neighborhood would gather for our nightly ritual. Deciding on a game, and picking teams. Sure, we played pilthy little pathetic night games back in our old house on our old street, but nothing steps up night games like a circle or cul-de-sac where you can gather.
This was serious business, circle night games. The game was chosen. Usually Steal The Flag. And the two home bases were usually my house and the Thompsons. Right across the circle. And almost like a message from heaven, from the Steal the Flag gods, was a line running right down the middle of our circle. When they had made this particular cul-de-sac, the asphalt layers must have laid the asphalt in two different stages, because that line was unmistakable. No need for a silly chalk line. No arguing. We had a built-in line. Prodding, begging and pleading for someone to use it to play Steal The Flag. And oh, did we. And these weren't just little puny night games. No way. Within our circle and a about 4 houses down each street, we could round up about 35 kids. Seriously. Between the Wisans, Thompsons, Watsons, Stakers, Morgans, McConkies, and us it was roughly 35. And there were a few magical summers where even the oldest kids weren't "too-cool" to play, and the youngest just were thrilled to be allowed to play. These were the summers that when I look back seem almost sticky-sweet. Do you know what I mean, you think back and if you close your eyes you can almost smell those warm summer evenings. Full of adrenaline, and competitiveness. The days were long and hot, and the nights were filled with friends and games and fun. I've got a seriously bad case of nostalgia here.
The night always began right after dinner with kids running outside, still chewing up that last piece of supper. Wanting to be sure they made it to the picks. You didn't want to come late and just end up on a team. You wanted to be a part of the origination. Because no matter how many times we played this game, it was always different. Different people, different bases. Different team names. The game changed nightly. This is how the magic began.
We would pretty much all line up on the line. The two oldest would be captains. And as the sun slowly set in the background, teams were chosen. Lines were formed. Sure you might have spent the entire day playing in "her" backyard, but now, she was the enemy. You needed someone fast. You needed someone to man the line. You needed someone to guard the flag. You needed someone to guard the prisoners. And most importantly you needed someone with a plan. When the teams were formed, flags were found, rules were set, and boundaries formed, then the game could begin. Some nights the boundaries were a few houses in each direction. But other nights, say a Friday or a Saturday when we would invite the kids from down the street, and the numbers easily swelled to 50, the boundaries would be half a mile. And that's what made it fun. Rules were simple. You cross the line and someone touches you, you're caught. Sent to the others prison. Prison had to be within 15 feet of the flag. The flag could be hidden, but at least part of it had to be showing/accessible. The rest was fair game. If your numbers got low you could always form a rescue party. Which was good, cause when you are in prison you can search for the flag. Which is why it was always a good idea to have a sacrificial lamb get caught early on, find the flag and then get rescued. At least in theory anyway. If you got to the other side and touched the prisoner you could walk back free.
My favorite nights were the nights I was sent on a mission. Go with this person. Down the gully, around the backside up around Wasatch, then slowly back into the flag yard. And my orders were simple. Forget the prisoners. We can sacrifice them. Don't get caught. And. Go. For. The. Flag.
And we didn't discriminate. Any and all ages were invited. Usually it was a moment or two before someone fell for the old tug-of-war scheme at the line and ended in prison. We even got so technical to say that your toe could cross, but if your entire foot crossed, you were done. Off to prison, where let me just say, the game pretty much sucked. I'd played a bad hand a few times, saw who they let out to guard the line. Kindergartners? Are you serious. Ran the line. Headed in for the flag. Only they left their oldest and biggest to guard the flag. Bad move Aim. Bad move. But I almost had it. Almost isn't good enough in night games. You could almost kick the can, or you could kick it. You could almost steal that flag, or you could find yourself in prison. Almost meant getting caught. Almost meant getting out of the game and sitting on the curb. Almost meant losing.
Usually at some point, when the sun had long-since gone a mom would poke her head out the door and yell, "Five more minutes!" Which we were almost always able to stretch into ten or fifteen, but once the numbers started dwindling, the game was over. Sometimes when it ended in a draw we would pick up right where we left off the next night. And again, magic.
There were days when those of us who fell age-wise right in the middle would try to re-enact Steal the Flag in the middle of the day or Kick the Can or Steal the Shoes, but it was never the same. I'm not sure if it was the heat, or the lack of darkness, but the game was never as good as when it was played at night. It just wasn't the same. I think there just might have been something magical about late summer evenings when I was a kid.
Sure there are other great ways to use a cul-de-sac. Bikes, roller blades, roller skates, and skateboards all are great options, but in my humble opinion, there is no better way to use a cul-de-sac that a good game of Steal the Flag. Of course back then, parents weren't worried about their kids running around in the dark by themselves. Or at least they didn't seem to be. Cause I never saw a parent out watching us. Ever. It was just us kids. Fighting with all the loyalty we could muster for our "team". Trying with all our might to Steal that darn flag.
So, to hear that they are doing away with cul-de-sacs kinda, sorta, breaks my heart a little bit. Makes me sad to think of all the future generations that won't be able to participate in the awesomeness that was night games. And night games were just eh without the circle. It was the circle, my friends that made them awesome.
So, to all my former steal the flag buddies, holla at ya. The Terrace Heights night games were simply put. Magical. Thanks for the memories friends.
