The Red Line

I was three years old when, at my mom's suggestion, my dad and my uncle put a red line down at each end of our driveway. The street I grew up on was by no means a busy street but there was a fair share of traffic and being the first house on the street it all passed by our house. I liked liked to ride my trike right up to the edge of the street and it made my mom really nervous. Her solution was a red line at each end of the driveway showing me exactly how far I was allowed to go. I knew going past the line meant trouble and I was careful to stay on my side of the line. Even the neighbor girls knew going past the red line at my house would mean no playing in the front yard. Then I grew up. I got a bike and the driveway no longer contained my adventures. I was trusted to ride closer to the street and eventually up and down the street. And with each passing year the red line faded a little more. Soon the red line was completely gone and the only way to know where it had been was to look for the crack in the driveway that it had followed.

Now with Jonathan being 4, having a trike of his own, and wanting to play outside the red line has once again become necessary. So Sunday night my dad took Jonathan out and showed him where the red line would go, painted the red line down, and told Jonathan the rule of the red line.
And now the red line is back on the driveway, as bright as it was when it was first painted in 1985, marking the boundaries for a new generation.