Contrary to popular notions the streets of America were never paved with gold.  Still, one could always discover items of value there, just lying around.  We’re talking about coins of various denominations that somehow found their way to the pavement, inviting those with keen eyesight and a willingness to stoop to collect them.  After all, it was, we understood, “finders keepers”.

As kids we were always on the prowl because there was no predicting when an errant coin might appear.  We commonly walked about, head bent over, eyes scanning city pavements.  And when we’d least expect it we’d spot a penny, nickel , dime or sometimes even a quarter.  There was no hesitating; in an instant we swooped down and scooped it up.  Any such “find” then caused us to move into high alert, based upon the common assumption that others might be in the vicinity.  And sometimes they were.  What a great feeling:  clearly our lucky day.  Remember, back then, even pennies counted for something.  Occasionally parents would put a damper on things.  “Put it back”, they’d say.  “Let a poor person find it”.  I didn’t quite appreciate the reasoning here since I hardly classified myself as particularly well off.  Still, more often than not, I’d place it back on the ground.  Less charitably, my mother might also say, “It’s dirty.  You don’t know where its’ been.”  The fact that I’d already handled it didn’t seem to matter.  Health trumped “wealth”.

As kids, we’d sometimes capitalized on this popular penchant for “found money”.  What we’d do is attach a thin, not easily detectable string to a dollar bill, place it on the sidewalk  or other public passageway and then position ourselves a short distance off, out of the way.  Someone would be chosen to hold the other end of the string.  Then we waited for our prey to pass by.  Some, upon spotting the dollar bill, were suspicious, stared at it, but made no effort to retrieve it.  They obviously recognized the prank or had detected the string.  They would look our way, smile and move on, relieved that they had not fallen for it.  But on occasion someone did, and that made it all worthwhile.  The moment they bent down to pick it up we yanked the string and pulled the currency away from them.  You can never tell with prank victims.  Many were embarrassed.  Some, at times, became angry.  But as you can imagine, we were thrilled at having managed to pull it off.  We talked about it for days.

I’m much older now, but I haven’t given up looking down; not at all uncomfortable with picking up coins.  I obviously don’t need the money – but that doesn’t stop me.  The excitement remains.  Finding coins is, I’m told, considered a good omen.  I’ve also been informed to avoid picking up pennies if they’re showing “tails”.  That’s bad luck, so I leave them behind.  No reason to challenge superstition here – not for a penny.  Otherwise I expect I will remain a coin hunter for years to come.  At least so long as my eyes don’t fail and the knees don’t buckle.

Talk to children about their nightmares and they’re quick to respond.  They’ll tell you about being frightened by dead animals, about getting lost and being left alone, or taken away by a strange person or abandoned – scary predicaments all.  I myself remember one or another variation on these creepy themes.  But I also recall another that would occur from time to time and may even have been mine alone.

No doubt it related to the fact that early on I just loved, while on vacation, to go fishing.  I usually equipped myself with a long bamboo pole, attached a length of string at the top, then a hook, and I was ready.  I’d always fish with worms, which I imagined fish considered an exceptional delicacy.  I’d stand along the banks of a stream or fish from a lakeside dock, casting the string out as far as I could.  My catch, when I was fortunate, largely consisted of sunfish, perch and an occasional small bass. 

Now for the basis of my dreams:  While standing patiently awaiting a nibble or better yet a bite, I’d imagine my line dangling under the water with the bait on display at the end.  (I usually used a float which kept the line and the worm suspended in the water and which by bobbing up and down, alerted me to any “action” taking place below the surface.)  I pictured fish swimming in the vicinity of my line observing this sudden intrusion into their midst.  Which one, I wondered, would find the bait alluring enough to head over to where it swayed suspended?  Many would, I imagined, be unimpressed and would keep their distance.  There would be one, however, sufficiently attracted to the wriggly worm to swim over and take it in its mouth.  What followed was turbulent thrashing, then a downward dive, followed by a torpedo-like thrust toward the surface.  After several seconds the fish was gone, disappeared.  Other fish in the area observing this abrupt departure undoubtedly considered themselves fortunate to have spurned that scrumptious worm.

My dream featured a neat reversal of what I’ve just described.  I imagined myself alone in a field under a bright sky.  Upon looking up I discovered some of my favorite foods (not candy, however) dangling within easy reach.  I didn’t consider how they got there, just that I had this wonderful opportunity to select anything I wanted.  (Strangely, only meats were involved.)  There were lamb chops that I loved, hot dogs, steak, veal cutlets and other favorites.  I would run over to one of them and grab it with both hands.  Then it happened.  I found myself being lifted up off the ground and toward the sky.  I couldn’t let go – I’d been ensnared!

I never discovered who it was up there trolling for youngsters.  That’s because I’d wake up shortly after lift-off.

The fish I caught always ended up flapping furiously on the dock or shore, then were tossed into a basket.  Lucky for me, I just rolled over and was soon asleep once more.

It’s inevitable.  The years pass; you find yourself attending more and more funerals.  Some deaths are expected, simply a matter of time; others come out of nowhere, catch you off balance, cause you to sit down, draw deep breaths while being enveloped by waves of sadness.  Most always a chapel funeral service is planned.  You clear your schedule and make arrangements.  You must attend.

The preliminaries are almost always the same.  You wait on line to sign the “guest” book, necessary evidence of your presence.  All wish to be credited for caring and coming.  Next, you locate the line that formed and moves slowly toward the surviving spouse and close family members.  This must be a total blur for them as people pass by, hug and kiss, then offer a few words of condolence.  Depending upon the circumstances, family members may be in shock, quite possibly sedated.  What you say barely registers as a procession of faces, some familiar, others not, come into view, then pass on.

Sitting in the chapel, waiting for the service to begin, you gradually enter an altered state of awareness.  The scene has changed.  The outside world slips away, immediate concerns as well.  You’ve been transported to another realm, where ultimate questions are likely to be raised and considered.  This is a funeral marking the death of another human being, maybe someone close, perhaps not.  But it is also the setting for a conversation you begin with yourself about yourself.  As the clergyman offers his or her assessment of a life just ended you can’t help but apply similar measurements to your own.

If you doubt the efficacy of religion it is on just such occasions that it offers some of its most compelling explanations and consolations.  Death, we’re told, is not some random event in a purposeless and bleak universe, but the doings of the Divine Being who has given life, a precious gift, but has also limited its duration. While one might consider this unfair of God, mankind must recognize that everyone’s days are numbered so that each of us acts like every moment is precious and endowed with purpose.  Furthermore earthy disappearance is but preliminary to heavenly ascension, to a place where daily burdens fall away and where one engages fully with the elevated life of the spirit.

God, moreover, is not unaware of this particular passing and has moreover conferred upon human beings the capacity of memory so that the deceased will long be remembered, will remain an essential link in the endless chain that binds the generations.  Such are the explanations and consolations religion provides at such times.  This message, combined with sweet, somber and soaring liturgical melodies elevate the moment, offer inspiration, even grandeur.

Then it is time for biography, clergy, family and friends recounting a life just concluded.  Invariably such accounts are selective and celebratory.  You learn much you never knew, become acquainted with intimate details hitherto kept private.  You hear from people who loved him, some holding back tears or pausing for lengthy periods, explaining what was at the core of his being.  You discover hobbies, charities, acts of generosity, bravery, career achievements few beyond his immediate circle were aware of.  At a funeral many know but a part of the story, were acquainted with the deceased in a limited capacity or for a brief period.  At a funeral a much richer portrait emerges, his or her fullest humanity is revealed.  In a strange way, he’s come completely alive for the first time – at least for you.  There is a reason to mourn.

If you’re paying close attention at a funeral your thoughts are certain to flow back and forth between yourself, the deceased and the moment.  The presence of large numbers of mourners will get you wondering whether your passing will “draw” as well.  Who can I count on?  Who will be around or alive then?  Who will be in tears?  Who really cares about me and will truly miss me?  Has my life been as worthwhile as his?  Admittedly, funeral orators have wide latitude, can pick and choose among recollections, can be generous in what they omit.  Still, the person accomplished a lot.  What have I achieved?  Are there still opportunities to bolster my record?  There was so much warmth evident and caring expressed here.  Isn’t it time I put aside petty disputes, retreated from indifference, reached out to others.  However calculated, life is short, opportunities for growth, for love, for joy must not be squandered.

The funeral over, I leave the chapel.  It’s sunny, people pass by.  I have a pile of dry cleaning in the car I need to bring in.  Life resumes.

Sitting in a restaurant recently I did a double take as a waitress passed by.  That was because she was carrying five large heaping and hot main dishes to a table nearby.  Four of the dishes ran up her left arm, almost to her shoulder; the fifth rested in her right hand.  Without even considering how she loaded them in the first place, I watched in awe at what she was able to do, not once but several times during the course of the evening.

This led me to thinking about how otherwise ordinary people often possess specific but notably exceptional skills.  I’m not referring to professionals who can dissect a balance sheet or sway a jury or install a new automobile engine.  I’m talking about regular people who either have a natural ability or an acquired capacity to do something that most of us may be able to do, but not especially well.

How frustrating it is when you’re unable to find particular items in a vast supermarket.  That’s usually not a problem for store employees who seem to have committed the entire stock to memory.  Ask them to locate a particular product and, in an instant, they’re directing you to the aisle number and shelf level.  I’m often reluctant to undo a shirt in a clothing store in order to check its fit.  That’s because I feel guilty imagining how complicated it must be folding it up properly and returning it to the shelf.  When I attempt to do it the result is decidedly comical.  Then I observe how an employee takes a few opened garments and folds so precisely you’d never guess they had been opened.  Same is true with in-store gift wrapping.  At home I will cut  up paper and with scotch tape wrap a box, but rarely is it a finished product.  The corners are not tight, the flaps uneven and where the sections converge, it’s never entirely straight, plus the ribbon looks limp.  Ask for gift wrapping at a store and you come away with an object of beauty, often more attractive than the gift itself.

What man can’t change a tire?  Who knows, but even if most can, few feel comfortable doing it.  Loosening the lug nuts (especially if they’ve never been removed) is a challenge.  Positioning the jack and raising the car involves considerable finesse.  Removing the flat tire and fitting on the new one takes a steady hand while tightening the nuts and securing the tire requires some exertion.  It’s doable, but does take time and considerable effort.  Besides, you’ll come away sweating and dirty and not sure you’ve done it right.  So maybe next time you call someone to do it.  He arrives and in no time his jack lifts the car and he quickly removes the flat and secures the new tire.  What might have taken you ten to fifteen minutes he completes in two or three.  There are the valet parkers; the guys who drive any vehicle model in reverse then speed into a tight spot in the blink of an eye.  You’d never attempt anything like that.

What about those who deliver newspapers onto the front step or porch of our homes.  They’ve got the touch, launching papers from near the curb right onto the porch or landing.  Precision targeting at its best.  Same with vendors at the ballpark who from many rows away, over the heads of spectators, can toss a hot dog into your waiting hands.

Let’s also include guys who are “handy”, especially around the house.  There’s not much they won’t attempt.  And they have the patience and smarts to figure things out.  If a faucet leaks, they’re on it.  If something breaks, they’ll try piecing it back together.  They’re prepared to tighten anything that’s loose, hang anything that needs hanging and paint a section of the ceiling marred by water damage.  Let’s not overlook “handy” women with seamstress-like skills, those with a talent for making beds up to hotel standards, fold laundry expertly and improvise meals from a little bit of this or that.

Common folks have been having a rough time of it lately.  So at least let’s not forget that most have something they can do exceptionally well.

It happens to all of us some of the time and to some more often than to others – especially as the years pass.  We all “lose” things – until we find them.  That scenario, however, can be most unsettling, even terrifying.  Any item is fair game, but typically we’re plagued by a small number of possessions that we discover are not where we assumed they were.  Misplaced?  Lost?  That is the question.

We enter a restaurant having parked the car in the street several blocks away.  But upon leaving and preparing to head home, the car is not where we remember leaving it.  About to head out we make sure we have our house and car keys, but we don’t.  Or it may be a wallet we assumed we’d left on our desk.  Often it’s a cell phone that’s missing; best not to leave home without it.  Then there’s the contact lens that has fallen out (or is it still in your eye?), or the earring that slipped off.

Once we’ve discovered our “loss” we can expect to pass through several stages.  Initially there’s surprise.  We were sure we knew where the car had been left.  Why isn’t the cellphone where I “knew” I had put it down?  Next come mild anxiety, accompanied by an effort to check out those places where in the past the wallet had been left.  But in short order, after much scrambling about, all possibilities have been exhausted – you’ve drawn a blank.  Up to this point you’ve gone about it somewhat haphazardly, without a plan.  With your confidence fading, it’s time to proceed more systematically, to retrace your steps, reconstruct recent activity.  Did you change jackets earlier?  Maybe the wallet is in one of the pockets.  You made a call from the car.  It’s not unlikely you left your phone there.  Could the keys still be in the door because you rushed to get the phone when you walked in.  Earrings have a way of bouncing erratically upon hitting the floor.  Expand your search area.  Try recalling the stores along the route after you left the car and headed to the restaurant.

None of this works.  You’ve hit the wall – dead end – finito.  It’s time not to panic, but to consider the grim consequences of your loss.  Having to get a new cell phone – what a bummer.  Your keys, sure you could make another set, but would you need to change your locks?  The car was stolen; you’ll have to locate a policeman, file a report.  Besides you loved that car.  It’s late.  How in the world will you get home?  The wallet?  You don’t want to think about what it will take to restore all the items – driver’s license – all those credit cards (and the automatic payments linked to them) – family pictures – health insurance cards, etc., etc.  The money?  That’s the least of it.  You feel so vulnerable, angry, helpless, also incredibly stupid – all at once.  It’s a bad time.  First off, others are waiting; worse, they’ll blame you for the screw-up.  They’re right!

And then the miracle (at least most of the time):  Your wallet had slipped out of your pocket and come to rest under the driver’s seat.  Your wife had mistaken your phone for hers and placed it in her pocketbook.  You blindly stumble upon your car, the search complicated by the fact that you’d left the restaurant from a different door and headed in the wrong direction. Your keys had been hidden under clothes you’d piled up for next day’s excursion to the dry cleaner.

The sense of relief is monumental.  The tension vanishes; the state of emergency is over.  You’ve been given back your life.  You promise; no, you swear it will never happen again.  You will always pay attention and place items where they belong.  That is, until the next time when you’re once again off on a frantic search for something you’ve “lost”.

It’s hard to imagine any kind of real world society in which some segment of the population, usually a very small one, does not occupy a privileged position.  It may be a family, a tribe, an aristocracy, a priesthood, the ranking military or the wealthy enjoying their elevated positions while assuring everyone else this is how it should be, that their rightful position is at the top.  But rarely is that effort entirely successful; there will always be those who question such arrangements.  Still, most times the majority seem reconciled to the presence of privileged groups, although some will raise the alarm when they perceive serious abuses and blatantly unfair advantages.  It may take the form of exemption from or special protections in the law, the amassing of widely disproportionate shares of the wealth, an ostentatiousness truly offensive or a deliberate distancing from the rest of society.

A look around the world today reveals a certain restiveness within many societies, a willingness to speak out against privileged groups and their behavior.  Often it originates  not from the  lower orders but from people whose incomes are rising and who have begun to gain social traction.  Even as they benefit, their opposition to advantages enjoyed by others intensifies.  This has been given public expression of late in nations as different as the United States, Israel, Russia, China, Brazil, South Korea, Syria, Myanmar, Tunisia and many others.  There’s every reason to believe this wave of resentment will continue to spread.

Curiously one form that it takes relates to the automobile.  Remember when cars first hit the roads at the dawn of the 20^th Century, they were purchased almost exclusively by the wealthy, who then often relied on liveried chauffeurs to get about.  The general public was not pleased because as one critic back then noted, the car was no more than a “play toy for the amusement of a few millionaires.”  Another asked, “Did you see anything so outrageous as these motors?  Automobiles are such insolent advertisements of wealth!”  Meanwhile, a writer in the Atlantic Monthly wondered why ninety per cent of the people should “be put upon their everlasting guard against a luxurious pastime in which they cannot participate?”  The situation sure did change once Henry Ford started mass producing cars and ordinary Americans fell head over heels for them.  Resentment did not disappear, though more often it involved envy of the wealthy and privileged for tooling around in Jaguars, Bentleys, Lamborghines, Porsches, Rolls-Royces, etc.  Tinted windows, when they first appeared, probably produced similar complaints because they screened out an ever curious public “entitled” to view all vehicle occupants.

It’s been outside the U.S. where auto resentment has become a frequent expression of the growing unease with the privileged elements of Society.  The Chinese are rapidly awakening to the reality that while wealth has grown rapidly a disproportionate share has flowed into the hands of its business and political elites.  Chinese roadways are notoriously lawless.  Still it was considered an outrage when news of the incident circulated widely after the son of a high-level police official hit two people with his car, killing one; then brazenly drove off, but not before shouting to eyewitnesses who his father was.  Other such instances of irresponsible behavior behind the wheel by officials or by family members have made the public extremely sensitive to the arrogant attitudes among China’s powerful.  Much the same occurs regularly in Moscow where auto ownership has soared while traffic stays snarled most of the day.  Still, when someone of importance needs to get around, everyone is moved off to the side so that this special vehicle can pass by unhindered.  This phenomenon, coupled with corrupt police shaking down motorists, has produced widespread anger and fueled ongoing protests against the establishment.  In Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, earlier  last year, the son of that nation’s richest man smashed his father’s $1.3million Mercedes into a bicyclist, killing the man instantly.  Now Brazil happens to be one of those places where new wealth has accumulated in dramatic fashion.  Still, the country ranks among the most unequal of nations.  No wonder then that the death of this one lower-class individual created a national furor and sparked a debate as one report put it “over wealth, influence and traffic deaths.”

So, you see, the automobile, a universal symbol of mobility, speed and modernity serves also as a proxy for inequality, glaring displays of privilege and of the arrogance of the wealthy.

Let me start with the unexceptional observation that since the dawn of big time advertising young women have been the most common and presumably effective prop employed to sell products of all descriptions.  Naturally, the women have to be attractive, which they are, almost without exception, and they must also be clothed in ways that reveal, or strongly suggest prominent physical attributes.

But beyond that, and most striking, is the way that women once exposed (especially in print ads), are then obliged to assume positions that relate not to everyday activities and standard postures, but to sexual encounters.  Gather together a group of ads featuring women and before you is a comprehensive manual of sexual positioning.  See women, lips puckered, necklines plunging, breasts scarcely concealed, reclining in all manner of ways:  A picture of easy receptivity to men’s advances.  Note how often they’re bent over in exaggerated fashion, or placed on their knees or have their legs angling off in directions most unnatural.  Observe the prominence usually given to the posterior region.  The suggestions of sexual escapades are unmistakable.

The goal here is for the male consumer, at least, to make love to the product as those very suggestive ads recommend.  Significantly, most ads spare men from the manipulations just described, since they’re usually presented in conventional postures offering few hints of imminent sexual coupling.  So are we to conclude that sexual signaling is essential in order to lure the male customers, whereas appeals to women can be far more subtle and sophisticated?  What’s your position on this?

Have you ever wondered how many people you’ve known through the years?  Not casual acquaintances, but those with whom you had a relationship over a period of time.  Depends upon how far back you go, but anyone sufficiently active and sociable should be able to assemble a list numbering in the hundreds.  Once your own memory bank is depleted, consider consulting your school and college year books, old office rosters, organizational directories, as well as invitation lists you’ve kept.

Still, the most valuable and richest source of friendships and familiar names is certainly (before Facebook and “Contacts”) those personal address books and phone directories you maintained and relied upon.  Any one of them (people have generally compiled several) opens the door, not only to current listings, but to a storehouse of memories.  (Entry into your book was never automatic.  It represented your judgment that the relationship was of some importance and likely to endure.)

On page after page you’ll discover a lost world of individuals barely recalled or who exited your life.  Proceeding through the As and Bs, Ss and Ts confirms just how many have passed through and then on by.  More numerous are the names of those with whom you once engaged, were part of your circle, relied upon, spoke to often, but who are now silent, departed.  How can they be gone?  Their names are still on the page together with their addresses and phone numbers.  They’ve not been erased or crossed out.  One should, out of respect, not do that.  Still, cross-outs are, in other instances, unavoidable.  People do not stay still, they move, sometimes repeatedly; their mobility geographically obvious in their multiple listings.  Many names leave you perplexed, they having been crossed off in your memory.  Who were they?  Why are they in the book?  What was our relationship?

You’re likely to linger and reflect upon the names of people once close, individuals whose company and conversation you enjoyed.  Why has contact with them ceased?  You struggle to recall the basis for the separation.  For the moment you’re tempted to get back in touch, perhaps rekindle a once-comfortable relationship.  You may, but more likely you will hesitate, reconsider, find reasons not to.  It would be awkward.  Besides, they’ve made no effort over the years to reach out to you.

Friends, colleagues, family members, area stores, service people – page after page, they’re listed, but a phone call away.  Our personal telephone directories are very much a set of history books documenting significant chapters of our lives.  They are both a handy bittersweet reminder of the many roles we’ve filled and a snapshot of the shifting network of connections and relationships we created and that define the breadth and boundaries of our lives.

America is a land of opportunity.  Still, many people will tell you how they missed the boat.  For confirmation, listen to the repeated laments of those who hesitated, perhaps lost their nerve and failed to act when golden opportunities presented themselves.  Instead of capitalizing they delayed, remained on the sidelines, and missed out.  Instead of the right moves, they offered up convenient excuses.  Who has not heard tales of heiresses not married, investments not made, real estate booms missed or mistimed, or other sure things overlooked?  The house, it could have been bought for a song; the land for practically nothing; a share of a rising start-up company for pocket change.  Anyone could see what was about to happen.  When prices took off, then went out of sight, fortunes were made.

Almost always there is the stock purchase that could have meant easy street:  the information – strictly inside stuff, the downside risk – negligible, the potential – enormous.  Computer companies couldn’t miss.  But each time their stocks surged forward you hesitated, waiting for a pullback.  They never did.  Straight into orbit they went without you aboard.  Lord knows how many people are still living off those stocks.  You’re not looking at one of them.  Remember when friends approached to invest in their business?  You declined; didn’t see the potential.  Today they have nearly two hundred stores.  The company went public, and the stock is worth a fortune.  You could kick yourself.  Sometimes you do.  All this sound familiar?

Are these real life stories?  Some undoubtedly are.  He who hesitates may very well lose.  The race frequently goes to the swiftest.  Trite but true.  But everyone loses out at one time or another, the knowledgeable along with the naïve.  And some of the hard-luck stories and misadventures may well be the products of selective recollection.  Had it been a bona fide investment opportunity or merely the prospect of one?  Did not as many people lose as gain at the time?  Weren’t years to pass before any substantial profits materialized?  How much money could you have afforded to invest then?  Reckless endangerment, not shrewd calculation would probably have been the verdict had you gone ahead.

If all this be so, why do people expose their missteps, exaggerate alleged short-comings, rehash missed opportunities?  There is drama, often high drama there.  Such stories attract attentive audiences, sympathetic listeners, also people comforted by your failures.  Perhaps you actually were ever so close to a bonanza.  How many people can even make such claims?  And beyond the self-deception you’re tapping into a rich lode of fantasy.  Almost succeeding easily blends over time into actually doing so.  Repeating the story often enough surely entitles you to a piece of the action.  Having come so close once certainly makes you a likely candidate for the grand prize again when the wheel of fortune may once more be within your grasp

A baby’s arrival is almost always a joyous event.  Family members flock to see the newborn (one can imagine the prehistoric origins of such in-gatherings of the clan in order to determine or confirm the likely father) and to offer congratulations together with a flurry of often conflicting first impressions , “Who does the child take after?”  Everyone present feels obligated to provide an opinion.  This subject dominates the conversation.  Family features and traits must be identified, sorted out and credit assigned once a consensus is reached.  Claims are made, supporting evidence put forward and contrary opinions contested.  Because heredity involves a fluid genetic stream supplied by an extensive network of individuals its possible to range pretty far afield here.  Distant relatives, barely recognized or acknowledged could nevertheless end up in the mix as readily as kin more closely related.

Opinions fly fast and furious.  Some focus on facial evidence; others maintain that body shape is crucial.  Still there’s no agreement.  A further complication arises from the fact that in the early weeks and months the situation remains remarkably fluid as the baby’s features change, creating obvious disappointment for some, but also opening the doors for others to stake their claims.

Each encounter with the newborn prompts renewed discussion and debate.  A few actually reference old baby pictures in their possession in support of their case.  Meanwhile, the parents look on delighted at the attention their child is receiving while staking their own obviously legitimate claims.  The road to compromise is within reach, however, once discussion moves from the infant’s overall “look” to specific features.  Concessions are now likely from all concerned parties.  Concede the eyes, but claim the nose.  Insist upon the ears and bargain away the lips.  Do not compromise on the hair, but accept the judgment regarding the chin.  Broaden the conversation to include temperament and eating habits and you expand the possibilities for give and take on all sides.

Meanwhile the baby cackles and coos seemingly oblivious to the ongoing debate over genetic inheritance.  But don’t be deceived:  the infant is taking it all in, upset at being used to satisfy the expectations and needs of individual family members.  Accordingly, he will, in years to come reject being defined by others and insist upon establishing his own unique identity.