“Why do you keep drawing Disney World buildings on everything?” my exasperated mother asked me just before my ninth birthday. An hour earlier, my mother had returned from the 1st Avenue Bank in Coatesville and preceded to give my butt a beating to end all butt beatings, as the bank would not cash her paycheck due to someone having skillfully, if I do say so myself, drawn an exterior elevation of the Disney Train Station across the back of the check. Of course, there was no denying that it was me, and so, through my tears I said, somewhat defiantly, “because I want to build my own Disney World.”

My mother’s face softened just before she broke out in laughter, saying, “honey, that will be really expensive. Why don’t you become an architect instead and design Disney Worlds for other people?”

Having never heard this term before (despite MM&W of NYC, 1879-1962), I asked, “an ark’a’what?” And so, after my mother explained in laymen’s terms what an architect does, I decided that being an architect was right for me. However, +40 years on, I now realize that those were laymen’s terms, and, on some days, I wish she would have suggested that I become a contractor or developer. But only on some days.