The memory is the earliest one I have of me and my Dad. I was very small indeed, I’m not exactly sure how old, but I’d guess about three years old, maybe even younger. My Dad was not a particularly tall or strong man, but I was small enough, and by comparison, he was big enough then, for me to stand with both my feet on one of his, and to reach up with my arms and cling onto his leg. I would then hang on and laugh delightedly as he tried to go about his daily business, walking around the house with me gripping on tightly refusing to be budged. It was a favorite game.