Today it’s hard to believe, but in my childhood there were almost no cars on the streets.

In the winter, when we were playing hockey, the gates were installed from a pair of bricks right on the road. And, it happened, we had time to play a few periods before a lonely truck forced us to leave. He passed, we returned to the road and continued the interrupted match.

Some passers tried to convince us that the road was not a place to play, but the smart advice of adults flew past our ears. We had our own reasons: if we do not disturb anyone and nobody disturbs us, then why not? The road is smooth and the ice is good. At that time, the roads were not covered. I will not say for all the roads of the country, my knowledge concerns only one road that ran next to my home.

Then, somewhat unnoticed, civilization entered our small town, the number of cars increased. In the winter, the hockey players did not go out on the road, but cleaned the site in the center of the yard and poured water.

Then the cars became even more, they had little space on the road, they began to drive directly through our courtyard. There were always many children in the yard, so their parents were not without reason concerned about their life and health.

One day, losing patience, the men dug a thick railway in the middle of the road running along the entrances. Entrance and exit remained, but the road ceased to be crossed. Having done the business, the men with a proud look walked around the courtyard, demonstrating who is the master here. Then came a police officer with a police officer. The rail is spinning. For a while, the police sought to find out who had digged him. The men crafted.

When the roadmen and the police officer left, they appeared again in the courtyard, screaming loudly about the self-government of the authorities, promising to dig the rail again, but did not dig in. Probably the rails are over. After some time, the iron back of the bed appeared above the remnants of the spinning rail, the legs of which were firmly cemented.

The passengers came and cleaned their backs. The culprits were searched carefully, found and fined. After that, people began to act more cleverly. As if by chance, there was a concrete block or a massive urn, a pebble, a bunch of sand or an excavated pit in this place of the road.

Then came new times. My family and I moved elsewhere, the revolutionaries bought cars and stopped building barriers on the road. The war ended with the victory of motorists.

I recently walked past, saw in this place a fine metal barrier installed by the road service. It was apparent that he was placed above the splinter. It turns out that the war is not just continuing, the opposing parties have changed targets. Now road drivers are guarding the road, and locals are fighting for free passage.