When I was born, my parents (who have been known to wait for weeks after the birth of a child before naming it) took one look at me and decided that I looked like a baby robin.
Can you see the resemblance? Cute, huh?
This decision set off a series of unintended consequences. Like my frequent dreams of flying (don't tell me everyone has those--not everyone is named after a bird). Or, because of the spelling, the letters that arrived addressed to Mr. Rob (thrown away)... or the Gillette razor on my 18th birthday (works great on legs, too)... or the notice to register for Selective Service or face jail time (come and get me). Or the dreams where I was the hero, rescuing the damsel in distress. Or is that TMI?
My parents also instilled in me a love of reading and a belief that I can do whatever I want. Or was that me, telling them I could do whatever I want? Hard to remember....
The next thing I want to be is a published writer.