I was 7 years old, my inner imp unleashed, about to scrape my initials into a fresh block of wet cement on the sidewalk in front of our row house. I knew full well I was misbehaving, but finding that perfect stick, deciding exactly where to etch my initials . . . all while not getting caught in the act, had a more compelling spark than the devil and angel sitting on my shoulders.

There I was, bare knees, kneeling over a block of wet cement, one hand on the sidewalk braced in support, with that perfect stick in my other hand — spark ignited. First came the V, a well crafted, most exquisite V — so I thought. Then the period in the perfect spot next to the V. Just before finishing the last initial, I sensed someone standing behind me. I peeked over my shoulder, relieved to see it was a kid I knew from down the block. He seemed to be waiting for me to finish so he could also autograph the cement — which he did. My very own influencer moment, of sorts. Later that evening the cement block had dried and was filled with initials, all different sizes and styles. A “trending” masterpiece!

Aside from being abnormally elated at the sight of a brand new box of crayons, or losing myself in the cursive handwriting panels over the blackboards in the classroom, there were many more signs throughout my early life that would dictate that spark that took hold of me that day.

There’s a point to my reminiscence that has to do with the thrill of that spark. Aside from all the inner impishness and misbehaving . . . disrupting a pristine block of wet cement with the bold stylings of childlike graffiti is, in my mind, an insightful metaphor for creativity — in all its forms.

The value of a creation is in the vibe it projects, which is measured by how well it emerges as a community. You’ve done well if a discerning few promote your work to others because if you can capture a few loyal admirers, you can do the same in larger numbers.

These days, I’m still feeling that spark of creativity like I did all those years ago out in front of my house — more than ever — and why I’m here.

I was 7 years old, my inner imp unleashed, about to scrape my initials into a fresh block of wet cement on the sidewalk in front of our row house. I knew full well I was misbehaving, but finding that perfect stick, deciding exactly where to etch my initials . . . all while not getting caught in the act, had a more compelling spark than the devil and angel sitting on my shoulders.

There I was, bare knees, kneeling over a block of wet cement, one hand on the sidewalk braced in support, with that perfect stick in my other hand — spark ignited. First came the V, a well crafted, most exquisite V — so I thought. Then the period in the perfect spot next to the V. Just before finishing the last initial, I sensed someone standing behind me. I peeked over my shoulder, relieved to see it was a kid I knew from down the block. He seemed to be waiting for me to finish so he could also autograph the cement — which he did. My very own influencer moment, of sorts. Later that evening the cement block had dried and was filled with initials, all different sizes and styles. A “trending” masterpiece!

Aside from being abnormally elated at the sight of a brand new box of crayons, or losing myself in the cursive handwriting panels over the blackboards in the classroom, there were many more signs throughout my early life that would dictate that spark that took hold of me that day.

There’s a point to my reminiscence that has to do with the thrill of that spark. Aside from all the inner impishness and misbehaving . . . disrupting a pristine block of wet cement with the bold stylings of childlike graffiti is, in my mind, an insightful metaphor for creativity — in all its forms.

The value of a creation is in the vibe it projects, which is measured by how well it emerges as a community. You’ve done well if a discerning few promote your work to others because if you can capture a few loyal admirers, you can do the same in larger numbers.

These days, I’m still feeling that spark of creativity like I did all those years ago out in front of my house — more than ever — and why I’m here.