From stop sign to stop sign, this is my home. The street I lived on for the first ten years of my life will always be with me. The street in front of my house is where I spent most of my time, either playing various sports and occasionally moving to avoid the passing car, or running in the gutters when a flash flood hit the city. Oak Street was its infamous name. It was our house. The street takes many forms when you are a child. We used it for everything: cycling, playing various sports, coloring with chalk, etc. The street was more home than my house. I didn't mean it in a gangster way either. Friends have come and gone, as have cars, but this street still has the same familiar feeling. Many things happened outside my house on Oak Street. A car crashed right across the street in my neighbor's yard. Immersed in excitement, everyone came out of their homes to watch the action. Turns out there was a high-speed chase that had been going on for about an hour. Where did he end up? Right on the stretch of street that holds a special place in my heart. I rode my first bike on this street. I also fell on the dirty asphalt several times. It's on the sidewalk in front of my house that I would jump with my bike. This simple thing never seemed to get old. All over the street I was jumping and riding my bike. Many times I would come into the house with the water pipes on full blast to show Mom a rash the size of a baseball. The street was never very friendly, but I still liked it. No one could keep me off the street. After being blindfolded, I headed to my “house” to play some more. The street always seemed happy that I was back to have fun again...... middle of paper ...... was an object that was always visible. The red fire hydrant seemed to guard its stretch of sidewalk, because no car would dare threaten it. With the border painted to match, the fire hydrant was a symbol of authority. Streetlights also made up a large part of Oak Street. On each lamp post, a neighborhood watch sign was attached. These old, battered signs were the target of various games played in the street. Those that were not damaged and abused by us were vandalized by the early residents of Oak Street. Every child who graced its presence on this street left a piece of it with them when they left. Like me, they also took a piece of it with them. Oak Street was a childhood symbol of what we called the world. The 1/8th mile stretch will always be remembered for its good times and bad. A piece of asphalt placed on the desert landscape meant freedom to me.