“Not me,” said six-year-old Martin. “I think we should do waterslides, tall ones, so even all the poor little kids can slide, up and down, and they fall into the pool thingy, below. Yes. Because that’s America to me.”

I was glad to discover Martin shared my political-views. Sliding up and down, falling into pool thingies, these are longstanding American traditions.

“My dad says,” shouted Taylor’s four-year-old brother. “We’re not supposed to eat our boogers, they’ll make us sick!”

His sister set the record straight. “He did NOT say that, MOM did,” and then Taylor slugged her brother, violating the sixth commandment.

A little redheaded girl chimed in, “America is where land is free, and the braves are home!”

Close enough.

“My dad, loves the Atlanta Braves,” said one boy.

“They’re the greatest!” said another.

“Everybody calm down,” I said. “Besides, everyone knows the Braves went downhill when they lost Bobby Cox.”

“I think,” added a mild-mannered boy missing his front teeth. “America should do the big thing, you know, like, when we did that time, and everyone danced…”

“You’ll have to speak up,” I said. “I didn’t quite catch that.”

So he used broad hand gestures. “Sometimes when I try to swing my arms…”

“Okay.”

“…And then I’m like this.”

“Right.”

The tallest girl in the bunch said, “My daddy’s coming home in two weeks after being overseas a long time. We’re waiting to celebrate my birthday until he’s back.”

“How long’s he been gone?”

“Almost a year, he’s in the Air Force, does that count? I mean, is that American stuff?”

Yes, honey.

It’s the most American stuff there is.