I Want to Hold Your Hand

People passing by my friend, our kids, and me at the mall would have seen a brown haired two-and-a-half year old little boy happily holding hands with a curly blond haired little girl of three years. The little boy wore a plush monkey backpack (with the leash detached), and the little girl clutched a soft stuffed puppy to her chest.

As they bounded along like two little adults on a window-shopping trip, the little boy pointed out the different sights to his friend. In the pet store he showed her the lizards and the snakes. They sat together in the coin-operated ice cream truck and the compact blue racecar.

While their mommies shopped, the little kids sang into the atomizer bulbs of perfume bottles (because they look like microphones); they played in the racks of hanging clothes (because it’s fun); and they giggled shrilly for no reason at all (because…well, why not?).

The blue-eyed friends tried to listen to their mommies, but they were having so much fun that they sometimes forgot. When it was time to go they shared a very grownup hug, where no arms got tangled or confused as to where they should go. And always, they were holding hands. Because if the little girl let go, the little boy got mad.