I can recall a handful of things from preschool. I remember, at least once a week, struggling with a mean girl to ride the tricycle, even just to round the playground once. I recollect the day we used steaming moss-colored water to dye knotted white shirts. And, I will never forget being traced on a large piece of paper.
I still feel that tall.
This sunny Saturday, I traced three children – from their braids to their sneakers. I felt sort of self-conscious and apologetic. I mean, these weren’t my children, and there I was tracing the contours of their basketball shorts and each finger.
I was back in preschool, rolling around and learning how to get along with others on a surprisingly beautiful afternoon.
I was outlining patient, ticklish strangers, giving them an experience they may hold for a lifetime.