When I was 1 to 3, we lived in Levittown, NY. That’s the site of my earliest memories.

I didn’t know till I was an adult that the two Levittowns (New York and Pennsylvania) were the first tract home suburban developments in the USA. I didn’t understand till I asked, that my parents rented that house.

I remember the kitchen area with the door to the white-fenced yard. I remember the placement and appearance of the front-loading laundry machines, because they scared me, but my parents have mentioned that terror so often that I may be recalling their words more than the appliances. I can almost summon up the sight of the big television set in the living room. I remember the sidewalk out front, and the doll carriage a neighbor had, that I wanted so badly my parents used it as a bribe to try to get me toilet trained. I can still recall the look of the staircase in that neighbor’s house, which seems to have created my preference for two-story residences.

But the most vivid memory I have from Levittown and from the age of 3 is this:

I had a wooden toy box with a painted scene, I want to say Western, on its lid. My mother stood me on the top of that box, to pull my clothes on, before we got in the car to drive Dad to the train station. Imagine it: the car was a gray sedan with a big bench seat, no seat belts, and an unpadded dashboard.

I stood between my parents as Mom drove and Dad sat on my right. There was a Jolly Roger restaurant at the station. I liked to look at its big colored lights as Dad walked away from us, suited and with case in hand, to board the train for New York City.