The neighborhood kids played with nearly anything in Cuba. Looking down on the stoop, I saw a children’s toy box (literally a battered cardboard box with its sad selection of broken dolls, bits of plastic and orphaned Lego blocks and I cringed thinking of the incredible abundance of toys and games that my own children had had. As I watched a trio of musicians strike up the familiar Cuban beat, a pair of young boys played contentedly in the street with two small plastic army men, tossing them up and down the street, chasing them and delighting in their wild acrobatics. Simple pleasures. When I go back, I’m bringing a case of plastic parachute jumpers to give away.