When I was three, my parents moved us to Costa Mesa, an Orange County suburb, back when the word suburb still had some meaning. We lived on a cul-de-sac in a subdivision whose streets were named after Pacific islands. There were two other families in our end of the street, and some of the kids were around my age.
We played. We fought. Our parents intervened. We played. We fought. Our parents intervened again. Repeat ad nauseam.