I must have been a very small child, because someone was holding me up, carrying me on their hip and standing before the window so I could see outside. “Yeah, that’s your brother and sister out there,” the person holding me says. Identification is necessary not only because we’re looking down from a height — a second-story window, perhaps — but because my siblings are dressed in hooded snowsuits and boots. They could be anyone. “Look what they did for you. Wasn’t that nice?” the voice continues, and the hand not supporting me points at the window, down at the ground.
There’s a snowman in the background. The children in the snowsuits (one navy blue, one red) are standing, grinning with their entire bodies, before a set of footprints that spell out my name in very large letters.