Some things just don't change.

Decades ago, when it rained, boys in their black Converse would take their Forestall class carriers to the flooded gutter, the wood island, holding eight penny nails for radar and communication antennas. Boys would ease the two feet of two by four pine from their father's last project and in the midst of the downpour and occasional lightening strikes, and while the shoes filled with warm dirty water, the boys would play until the keel of their ship hung up on the shallow sea.

Fast forward thirty years and the boy has grand children. His shoes are Asics instead of Converse, instead of tube socks he wears, well, tube socks, and his carrier has graduated a foot to a Reagan class complete with rusted nails along its gunnel's for Phalanx anti-missile defense, causing the depth of her keel to sit a little lower than her predecessor. But rain in the gutter and a simple board has become the imagination of thousands of boys-no matter their age.

Storms are rare in Phoenix. Deep gutters are even rarer, especially deep seas that move a ship to just before being swallowed by the city's underground. Only thing missing is a Wienerschnitzel Coke.