When my husband was 3 years old, he rode his Big Wheel around our neighborhood (our families were neighbors) in San Diego, California. This was the 1970s, when every kid was free-range and cruising the streets was standard childhood stuff.

In my mind, I picture little Dustin revving his handlebars and making motorcycle noises as he peddled up the sidewalk. When he dipped down into the neighbor’s driveway, however, she did not see him coming. She backed over Dustin and the Big Wheel.

Assuming she had just hit her trash can, the neighbor asked her sons to hop out and move it. Imagine her surprise when the sons said, “Actually, Mom, it’s the neighbor.”

Amazingly, Dustin only had burns on his face to show for it. Today, he can’t grow a full mustache due to a scar, but otherwise, you’d never know he was once pinned beneath a car.

My mom remembers taking coloring books to Dustin in the hospital, and 16 years later, after I hadn’t seen Dustin for 10 years and he called to ask me out on a date, I asked my mom, “Isn’t that the kid who got hit by a car in San Diego?”

So the memory, if not the injuries, stuck for both of us.

Dustin was adamant that our boys’ Big Wheels have tall flags attached to the back of them, and I saw the way he flinched every time one of the boys rode a bike across the bottom of a driveway. But Dustin balanced his fears with our shared hope that the kids would have a childhood like ours. Once, when a driver stopped to complain that he had to “slam on the brakes” because our sons’ ball rolled out into the street, Dustin said, “If you had to slam on your brakes, you were driving too fast for a residential road.”

Fast-forward to modern day. Several weeks ago, when the muddy spring finally gave way to summer days, our teenage boys moved their basketball hoop to the bottom of the driveway so they can play one-on-one games with other teenagers in the neighborhood.

I think we can all agree this is a good thing for teenagers to be doing. They aren’t playing video games, nor are they getting into trouble drinking and smoking. But yes, they are technically playing basketball in the street — a dead-end street, by the way — with a posted 25 mph speed limit.

I cautioned the boys about cars, but I didn’t stop them from playing basketball.

Then one day my husband and I joined our three sons for a game. Most of the passers-by, many of whom have grown used to my boys being in the yard and sometimes the road, crept by and waved out their passenger window. We are at a dead end, after all, so what’s the rush?

However, in the proverbial blink of an eye, a white SUV came full-speed at us. Everything seemed to slow down. I could see the faces of the driver and passenger. Their eyes were fixed straight ahead, oblivious.

Our youngest son, 9, who did not see the car, ran backward toward it yelling “I’m open, I’m open.” Even as I shrieked, and even as my husband yelled in his loudest voice, the driver looked straight ahead. Our son came within six inches of being hit by a speeding car. The driver did not stop until I was nearly at their bumper and screaming into the window.

There will be people who read this and claim we are bad parents. Who lets their kids play basketball in the street? But what if my teenagers were instead loitering around playgrounds meant for little kids? Would I be a better parent then? What if they were inside playing video games all day? What if they were hanging out in empty parking lots, smoking and drinking?

The people who complain, by the way, will be the same people who complain about teenagers being on cellphones and video games, the same ones who mourn the way things “used to be,” when kids played outside.

So how about instead we ask ourselves this: Have we, with our constant need to rush around, forced kids out of the one place — neighborhoods — that was always meant for them? Kids don’t play on highways or the interstate; cars shouldn’t speed through neighborhoods. If kids can’t even hang out in their own neighborhood, where else then should they go?

Yes, my husband was hit by a car. Now, my son almost was, too. You’d think that would make us cower inside and leave the outdoors to the busy commuters. But we won’t. Because when we sit inside, our fast-paced culture has won, and childhood has lost.

Maybe people should just be safe drivers instead.