I have only fleeting memories of George and the man with the yellow hat from my own childhood. I'm sure I was exposed to them, but I don't have strong memories of their antics.
However, my second son fell in love with the books about the little monkey one day on a trip to the library. He read one book, then had to read more and more. He later owned a copy for himself -- Curious George Rides a Bike -- and we read it together over and over again.
He pleaded for another book -- Curious George Flies a Kite -- and so we had some variety in which story to read at naptime or at night before bed. It's not that they were his only books. He was just that kind of kid who wanted to read a favorite story again and again until we could all repeat it by heart.
Santa Claus brought a stuffed George the next Christmas, and then the two of them, boy and monkey, were inseparable for years.
I'll let you in on a little secret: that silly monkey is still in my basement hiding in a box of tossed aside things and has been for the past quarter of a century. Now it's not the boy who has a hard time separating from that smiling face, but the sentimental mother.