“There are far, far better
things ahead than any
we leave behind.” 
C.S. Lewis

It was another serendipitous moment. I took another 6.5-mile walk through the Outer Sunset District yesterday afternoon. I started, as I often do, with breakfast at Java Beach Café on Judah Street. After enjoying a bowl of oatmeal and cup of hot chocolate, I began my southbound trek along the Great Highway. When I reached Sloat Boulevard, I walked east to 39th Avenue. A quick left turn put me right back into the neighborhood of my youth near South Sunset Playground.

When I got to 38th Avenue, I couldn’t resist taking another walk past my childhood home, situated halfway between Wawona and Vicente Streets. For some reason, as I approached the house, I was thinking about something I had written with white chalk on the inside wall of the garage back in 1966 — on my 12th birthday. I wondered if it might still be there.

Much to my surprise, the garage door opened just as I arrived at the house. The current resident, along with his young son, was just getting ready to go somewhere. I stopped, introduced myself, and asked if I might check to see if my writing was still on the garage wall. He had not noticed it previously, but we ventured inside to check it out. A tall, narrow cardboard box leaning against the wall obscured our vision of the area where I’d written the message. The resident moved the box. I think he was more surprised than I that what I’d written almost sixty years ago was still there.

Kevin Carroll was here.
6-4-66

I snapped the photo above, thanked the gentleman and his son for their kindness, and went on my way. What a trip!

A closer look at the photo makes it look as though I had written the date as 6-4-61, but the quality of printing, and the height of the writing on the wall, leads me to believe that I must have been older when I wrote it, probably on 6-4-66. I couldn’t help but recall something John Steinbeck had written in his classic short story, Tularecito:  

“After the bare requisites to living and reproducing, man wants most to leave some record of himself, a proof, perhaps, that he really existed.”

Proof of my existence can be found on the wall of that 38th Avenue home in San Francisco. I wonder if this same desire might be a motivating factor behind my passion for writing. Long after I’m gone, the words I’ve written in my blog, along with the stories I’ve shared in the books I’ve published, will be available to future generations. 

Will my blog be accessed by anyone after my death? Will my books be read beyond my years on this earth? I will never know. Still, it’s reassuring to know that these possibilities exist, and that I exist, too.