We cut a mean figure when we were 3. Baggy Osh-Kosh, striped shirt, tiny red sneakers. The world was our zwieback.
No one sucked a better thumb.
Saturdays were spent hanging out at the park playing with the other children, and driving the adults crazy. I can remember their afternoon litany:
"Stanley, don't eat the grass."
"Judy, take your finger out of your nose."
"Michael, don't hit Lisa in the head with your shoe."
"Annie, Annie, don't go near that. No, honey. That's doggie poo-poo. . . . Annie!"
Drowsed and ate.
And napped some more.
We got kisses.