If he has any memories of holding children before, he hasn't properly recalled them - though there was a photo. They'd been in one of the heavily edited files Peggy had given him to read. It'd been black and white, a man in a spandex costume kneeling down next to two children, the backdrop a stage.

With his free hand he points to his solar plexus. "Here, with your knee. Hard as you can to knock the air out of them."