On this occasion Mom and Dad wanted to take a walk with us. To parade triumphantly around the neighborhood, perhaps; to indicate to others that we were not just a happy family suddenly, but we were happier than them – we were taking a walk. Only the very happiest of happy people take walks.
Mom and Dad walked ahead of us, arms around each other's waists. Julie and I straggled behind. We were always a little bit embarrassed when our parents got along. If we were ill at ease when they were fighting, we were mortified when they embraced. It would have suited us best had they interacted like business partners, cordial and sexless.
I picked up a stick for a walking stick and I whapped it against the bases of mailbox and paper-box posts along the way until Mom fired me a scathing glare.