Never, ever let your car radio stop working. The results could be disastrous, and you might even think. God forbid.

This public service announcement comes after a 90-minute drive south this past Friday, with every mile traveled in the shroud of silence.

And this was the kind of silence that makes the sanest Shane a crazy Carl. I mean, I haven’t even heard Ace of Base’s “The Sign” in about five years, but those infernal lyrics were belted out by me in an attempt to fill the minivan’s void.

But something struck me while I raced the setting sun.

No, not a deer. My minivan already survived one of those in its illustrious past.

As the last flakes of dirty snow melt, we now can see the scuffed up earth it hid. Snow plows, salt and shovels all have combined with the pale green of dead grass to paint a pretty ugly picture. However, thoughts turn to spring and the inevitable possibility that flowers and lush lawns will reach for the skies.

This stirred plenty of thought on the boring route. Unfortunately, my drive included some of the “hot spots” in residential life.

Something tells me everyone in the world will live in Plainfield and the other suburban havens within the next few years. To fit so many cookie-cutter houses and pretty gates into a confined area, though, they are eliminating a small part of Americana & the large lawn.

Ask anyone lucky enough to have an acre or two to frolic as a kid and they would decry the shrinking lawn. Acres are becoming square feet, and with the small garden and swingset, there’s barely enough area to barbeque in these suburban boonboxes.

More and more, the suburban landscape resembles a cleaned-up version of urban ideals. If you want to play baseball, there’s one place you can go. The community swimming pool would be the place to meet your friends. And the local park has all the trees you need.

Frankly, this trend disturbs me. As someone who’s never been in a park district or a member of a YMCA, the organization of such activities always seemed silly. Pick-up games can’t be a well-oiled machine! That goes against the whole concept.

A large lawn allows toddlers and pre-teens the room to wander and discover. These lawns have no space concerns because the trees serve both as a source of fruit and shade while still offering a good landmark for whiffleball home runs.

Plus, in a roomy subdivision, each yard has its individual charm.

All the intricate dynamics of hotbox and the great game of catch and tag all change when you go over to the neighbor’s house. One slight slope could be the difference between “safe” and “out.”

Most of these memories are tinged with fond childhood memories. In my later years, the games have ceased as neighbors have moved.

But now my dog Brandy and I run rampant in the grass, just because we can.

My fear is that children growing up won’t experience these things. Instead, the white picket fences separate similar lawns and similar houses, while sidewalks lead to one place to play.

No matter how many businesses want the land or how many people flee to these suburban meccas, the space deserves a better fate. The tide of change is pretty overwhelming, though. We can only hope that these new parents realize there’s no space for their children to grow.

Otherwise, we’ll be stuck with a million versions of pastel siding and a severe lack of grass. That’s never a good sign.