Being Three

A few months ago, I watched with amusement as my 18 year old friend threw an orange peel out the window of our moving car and clapped with joy when it zipped behind us. "I wish I were three again!" he had exclaimed, "Then every physical experience would be so exciting."

Being at the Beijing Children's Home was probably the closest I've felt to being three again. My favorite kid, Huei-huei, was a 'toddler' in BCH3 (she couldn't quite toddle yet). The first time I sat down next to her, she handed me the little picture book she had been holding almost immediately. I was flattered for a few seconds before she reached out her hands and claimed it back. For the next fifteen minutes or so, we engaged in this simple ritual of passing the book back and forth. I have never seen anyone so overjoyed over something so simple. Every few passes, she would stop, look up at me, and beam.

Over the next few days, she discovered new sources of amusement. She absolutely loved the sound of clipboards, containing all details of the babies' conditions, against the wooden shelf. (The supervisor was not so amused.) She loved the sound of her own hand pounding against the wooden shelf. She loved smiling into the mirror and would always giggle when I helped her lean forward and touch the mirror. She loved watching a next-door neighbor ride a bike past the window. I loved that she loved these things, and I loved that she could do all of these things over and over again. The best part was how she would smile ridiculously, absolutely ridiculously, every single time.