According to family lore, on the day I was born my father changed the name of his lawn-mower repair company to P.B. Robson & Son. In 1953 a son in the Robson family merited a new shingle in big block letters. Three years earlier, much to the disappointment of my father's parents, my mother and father had a baby girl. One of my earliest memories is a ritual my mother would enact when she put me to bed as a toddler, mimicking my dad's reaction to my birth. "A boy!" she'd say, her face exploding with glee as I giggled joyfully at the happiness I'd caused and sank deeper into my pillows, ready for sweet dreams, while my older sister listened silently... More >>>