Nothing is simple about childhood. It is an inchoate mass of urges and impressions. We haven’t sorted things out yet and, from the outset, we have nothing to go on. No one ever does. There is perhaps no more perfect image of the human condition than the look of consternation and perplexity one sees sometimes on the faces of toddlers. Somehow, over time, we get a handle on things, and it would be nice to know what combination of sense and judgment we employed to do that.