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To the editor:
A Marblehead police officer recently came to my home because someone complained about my children’s hockey net.
The officer was courteous and professional. After he left, I looked at the net, thought about dragging it into the garage and then looked across the street at a boat trailer that had been sitting there for weeks.
My first thought wasn’t, “This isn’t fair.”
It was, “What happened to us?”
Not because of the complaint itself, but because no one simply came over to talk.
That moment made me realize this isn’t about one hockey net.
It’s about what we value.
Politicians can build parks, pave roads and fund recreation. Those things matter. But no government can manufacture a neighborhood.
A neighborhood exists only when its people decide it does.
It exists when children know each other’s names.
When adults wave instead of looking away.
When drivers slow down because they expect children to be outside.
When the sound of a hockey puck, a bouncing basketball or kids laughing isn’t considered a disturbance—it’s considered evidence that the neighborhood is alive.
My wife and I have four children. They don’t “go outside” once a day. They live outside.
They shoot pucks, ride bikes, throw footballs, wrestle in the yard and disappear into childhood the way children always have.
The hockey net stays out because the game never really ends.
Maybe that’s exactly what a healthy neighborhood looks like.
We’ve become very good at talking about childhood anxiety, loneliness, obesity, excessive screen time and disconnected communities.
Perhaps we’ve forgotten that those problems don’t disappear because we hold another meeting.
They begin to change when children simply go outside.
The next time you drive past a hockey net, a basketball hoop, a lacrosse goal or bicycles scattered across a lawn, don’t see clutter.
See investment.
Someone is investing in childhood.
Someone is choosing scraped knees over glowing screens, fresh air over endless scrolling, friendships over isolation.
If the net needs to be moved 1 foot, help move it.
If traffic needs to slow down, slow down.
If children are playing, smile.
Because one day those sounds disappear, and no amount of money, construction or political promises can bring them back.
Communities don’t become stronger because they’re quieter.
They become stronger because children know they belong there.
Maybe it’s time we started seeing a hockey net for what it really is:
Not an obstacle.
A promise.
Liam McGeown
Driftwood Road
