"What did we do before we had the block party on the 4th of July?" I asked a neighbor in the waning hours of that day.

"Was there a before?" she responded. "I don't remember."

For most of the older children, the years before the first annual Kid's Parade, Block Party, and Talent Show are hazy - actual memories replaced by photographic placeholders. But we can agree, the majority of the original children were four years old that first year. They're 17-years-old this summer; demonstrating their talents busing tables, bagging groceries and tutoring instead of juggling in front of the group that gathers for the talent show.

Every summer there's at least one challenge over the number of years there has been a block party on Sunset Hill (or whether it's properly Sunset Hill). How can it be Jonah's 14th birthday at the stroke of midnight on the 5th when he was born before the first block party? It's an annual riddle - thirteen completed years equals fourteen parties.

A few years ago I passed the torch as lead organizer to another neighbor willing to take it on, but it's not like I moved away or stopped attending. Just like the Re-Tree Ballard street trees along the sidewalk strips the party has deep roots now and needs less maintenance than in the earlier years. Everyone knows their role, from moving cars to placing sawhorses, from decorating tricycles to the expected potluck contributions (there has to be red, white and blue Jell-O). There is no way of knowing beforehand how many people will attend; every family is encouraged to invite friends and family.

"How long until the parade?" children ask all morning. "How long until the talent show?" they ask after the parade.

The best part of not being the organizer is that I am no longer in charge of the weather. It wasn't until I passed off the clipboard that I realized I'd considered the weather my responsibility along with food bank donations. It's hard to control weather.

As the children gathered this year at the base of the block on an assortment of wheels (single, double, triple) I was amazed by how many children were unfamiliar. As younger families have moved to the street, they have connected with still others in dance groups, pre-schools and Little League. New families with wagons and motorized toy cars moved to the start. A parade that once existed more in name than reality has become real, as tangible as the angle of the incline that made it slow going for the girl who attempted the route on stilts. Long ago that was my daughter on stilts.

The boys who used to count the minutes until the unofficial Supersoaker fight are busy sending text messages instead, invisible by day they reappear in a huddle after the fireworks with their phones aglow.

Sometimes attendees comment they wish they lived on a block like this one. Perhaps they don't realize that they can create a similar bond wherever they do live, whether in an apartment complex or a cul-de-sac. Not everyone will participate, but those who do will be there because they want to be. It's amazing how many people are just waiting to be invited, a flyer in the mailbox, a time and a date, a tradition in the making. This block isn't special because it boasts front porches or a dead-end. Three hundred sixty-four days of the year it's just another Ballard street. On the 365th day it becomes what my daughter calls, "the children's play area" and the site of the talent show in which every participant is a winner.

Every year we claim it was the best party ever, preferring to dismiss the time it rained in 1997. Despite efforts to pull together various tables and canopies along the length of the street it operates as separate parties for parts of the afternoon - until the talent show. Then everyone leaves their umbrella, chalk drawing or wading pool to trek their chairs to one location, forming an arc beneath the trees. Children step in the street circle bravely, sometimes with parent accompaniment, others calling for volunteers. They are small girls in Snow White outfits and tap shoes, boys with bare feet and soccer balls, duos with hand-clapping songs, boys with instruments and songbook pages that flutter in the wind.

Afterwards there are prizes. Not listening to their category the children rush toward the center when they hear their name. A teacher acting as co-judge adds a beautiful formality to this year's conclusion. "Congratulations," she says to each child and shakes their hand. The winners look through the games, regardless of whether they've been pronounced "Most Athletic Tongue," "Future Camp Leader" or "Spirit of the 4th." If there had been a popular vote "The Supersoaker Synchronized Squad" would have taken the honors despite the soaking received by portions of the crowd. Not everyone mastered aiming up at the sky while accompanying a waltz.

Neighbors used to travel off the street to watch organized firework displays, but it's increasingly rare. Why leave the street when there's still so much food and good company to enjoy, when what is usually a street with parked cars has so much daylight and energy remaining as a children's play area? There are still marshmallows to toast over a communal fire pit and at midnight a song that needs to be sung every year as the block party, and Jonah, celebrate another year.

Peggy Sturdivant writes on neighborhoods for CrossCut.com and additional pieces for the Seattle PI's Neighborhood Webtown: http://blog.seattlepi.nwsource.com/ballard/ Her e-mail is atlargeinballard@yahoo.com