At some point when we lived in New Zealand–I think I was three–my mother took me to visit her home state of California. I don’t remember that trip. But back then, I’d logged it thusly: America is Disneyland. Disneyland was all I remembered. Mickey, Minnie, Goofy, the whole gang: huge, smiling, waving, posing-for-photos, draping-an-arm-around-you, big-headed instant friends. So when my parents sat my brother and I down and asked us if we’d like to live in America, I was all for it. It was still sad, the goodbyes, to neighborhood friends, to a lamb, and a chicken…But there was also an element of “So long, suckers.” Because I thought I was moving to Disneyland.