Innocence Found

Every so often, in a completely pedestrian and non-creepy way, I watch the neighbourhood kids playing on the street that my house is on. The people who live across the road have three children, all of which I remember seeing as babies. The youngest (whom I had a very one-sided conversation with the other day) isn't speaking yet, but she is certainly up and walking around. It feels like it wasn't long ago that their oldest was just a baby himself. I can't help but reflect on time and how its flow is both speedy and unstoppable.

Sometimes I feel like I'm still a kid myself-- that is, until reality's cold hand slaps me in the face.

My younger sister and her friend came to watch my buddies and I play baseball a few months ago. It's the same pastime we've been engaging in for years: just the neighbourhood kids playing America's favourite sport. That's how it read in my mind at least, until my sister's friend commented that she wasn't expecting to see a bunch of grown men on the field in the park. It was then that I stepped back and noticed the beards, the selectively aging physiques, and the beers in hand… no, she was right; these people were a far cry from being children.