Somewhere in New Zealand. We were befriended by a farmer and his wife when the Volvo broke down in front of their farm. They insisted we stay, not just for dinner, the whole night. I was little. Three, maybe four. In the morning, the farmer invited me to accompany him on his rounds. Just me. He asked if I’d like to see a newborn lamb. This was the best question I’d ever been asked. I sat cross-legged in the field as he handed me this tiny, droopy, curly-coated baby. He showed me how to cradle it, and hold the bottle, tilt it just right, watch and make sure the milk was going down. I bottle-fed one lamb, as he sat in front of me and fed another. I was captivated by the miraculously brand-new creature, and focussed on getting the feeding just right. I chanced to look up and see the farmer watching us–me and the lamb–with a kind, knowing smile. Here was a man who understood what childhood is supposed to be. One discovery, one experience at a time. We meet the world. Maybe, I felt…maybe it keeps getting better.