Yesterday, I saw something I never thought I’d see again—especially not from a high school student. I saw a group of teenagers playing leapfrog.

Leapfrog.

Not a phone app. Not a video game. Not some new social media challenge designed to last three days before disappearing into the digital abyss. Actual leapfrog—the same game kids have been playing for generations. One student bent over, another took a running start and vaulted over him, followed by laughter, cheers, and a few less-than-graceful landings. For a moment, I just stood there and watched.

And suddenly, I wasn’t looking at a group of teenagers in 2026.

I was ten years old again.

I grew up in the 1970s and 1980s, back when childhood existed largely beyond the reach of screens, algorithms, and Wi-Fi signals. We didn’t have the internet. We didn’t have smartphones. Most of us didn’t even have cable television. If we wanted entertainment, we had to create it ourselves.

And somehow, we never seemed to run out of things to do.

Back then, play wasn’t something that happened through a device. It happened outside. It happened in vacant lots, backyards, school playgrounds, and neighborhood streets. We played until the streetlights came on. We played until our knees were scraped, our shirts were dirty, and our mothers yelled our names from the front porch.

Leapfrog was just one game among dozens.

There was tag, of course, and all its variations. Red Rover. Dodgeball. Kickball. Hide-and-seek. Simon Says. Mother May I. Four Square. Marbles. Jacks. We raced bicycles, built forts, climbed trees, and invented games whose rules changed every five minutes. Sometimes the game itself wasn’t nearly as important as simply being together.

A stick could become a sword.

A cardboard box could become a spaceship.

An empty lot could become an entire kingdom.

Our imaginations did most of the heavy lifting.

The amazing thing is that nobody scheduled any of it. There were no group texts coordinating activities. No apps announcing who was available. You simply rode your bike down the block to see whose bicycle was lying in the front yard. If enough bikes were scattered around a house, you knew that’s where the action was.

Childhood operated on a surprisingly sophisticated communication system consisting of bicycle tracks, open garage doors, and yelling someone’s name from the sidewalk.

And it worked.

Looking back now, I think what made those games special wasn’t the games themselves. It was the freedom that came with them. We weren’t documenting every moment. We weren’t performing for an audience. Nobody was worried about getting the perfect photo or recording a video for strangers to watch online.

The experience was the reward.

The laughter was enough.

The memory was enough.

When we played leapfrog, nobody thought about whether it looked cool. We did it because it was fun. The same was true for countless other childhood activities that would probably confuse today’s generation. We spent entire afternoons throwing rocks into irrigation canals to see who could make the biggest splash. We challenged each other to foot races for absolutely no reason. We balanced on curbs pretending they were tightropes and transformed ordinary sidewalks into adventure courses.

We weren’t trying to go viral.

We were just trying not to go home.

That’s why seeing those teenagers playing leapfrog stopped me in my tracks.

For a brief moment, it felt as though I had stumbled upon a small portal to another era. Not because leapfrog is such an extraordinary game, but because it represented something larger. It represented a kind of play that was spontaneous, uncomplicated, and wonderfully pointless.

The best childhood activities often were.

There was no scoreboard.

No followers.

No likes.

No subscriptions.

No batteries required.

Just kids being kids.

Watching them, I found myself smiling. Not because I was longing for the past or complaining about the present. Every generation has its own way of growing up. But it was comforting to see evidence that beneath all the technology, some things remain unchanged.

Teenagers still laugh at the same things.

Friends still challenge each other to do ridiculous things.

And every now and then, someone decides to bend over, someone else takes a running start, and a game that has survived for centuries comes back to life.

For a few seconds yesterday, the internet disappeared.

The algorithms disappeared.

The screens disappeared.

And there, in the middle of a modern high school campus, was a scene that could have happened in 1978.

Or 1985.

Or 1955.

A simple game of leapfrog.

And for those of us who grew up before the digital age, it felt like seeing an old friend we hadn’t encountered in decades. A reminder that while the world has changed dramatically, the joy of play is still out there, waiting for someone willing to put down a phone, run across the grass, and take a leap.

It also says something interesting about teenagers.

Despite all the changes in technology and culture, the urge to play, laugh, compete, and be goofy with friends is still very much alive. Every generation finds its own way to express it. The games may change. The music may change. The gadgets certainly change. But the need for connection, for shared laughter, and for those moments of pure, unfiltered fun remains remarkably constant.

Sometimes we older folks are quick to assume that today’s teenagers spend all their time staring at screens, disconnected from the world around them. And certainly, technology occupies a larger part of their lives than it ever did in ours. But every once in a while, we’re reminded that underneath it all, they’re not so different from the kids we used to be.

They still joke around when they’re supposed to be serious.

They still dare their friends to do ridiculous things.

They still find ways to turn an ordinary afternoon into a memory.

And sometimes, in the most unexpected moment, they remind us of ourselves.

That’s what happened when I saw those students playing leapfrog.

For a few brief minutes, I wasn’t thinking about generational differences or changing times. I wasn’t comparing the past to the present. I was simply watching kids have fun.

And maybe that’s the real lesson.

The games come and go. Trends fade. Technology evolves. The world keeps changing. But the simple joy of being young, surrounded by friends, laughing so hard your sides hurt, seems to endure.

Yesterday, for a moment, I caught a glimpse of that timeless joy.

And it looked exactly like leapfrog.

There’s more waiting at https://xinkblotz.com. Telling stories, sharing thoughts, and drinking coffee. A blend of fiction, reflection, and whatever’s brewing – one post at a time. 

© 2026 Mariano Velez ~ InkBlotz