My childhood was idyllic. I grew up in a suburb just over the Chicago line, and lived a Father Knows Best sort of life, although Mom didn’t wear heels when she vacuumed. Nor did she ever talk about politics. In contrast, my father was an outspoken Goldwater Republican. Nonetheless, Dad saved us from1950s conformity. He had grown up on a cattle ranch in South Dakota, and even though he became a physician, he thought every child should have a farm or a ranch. So, we spent time with my grandparents in the West, and on a farm Dad owned near Aurora, Illinois. My brother and sister and I rode ornery horses, shot our 22’s at whatever we could hit, chased each other across barn rafters high above the stable floor, and drove the 4-wheel drive vehicle into unimaginable of hazards, even though we had difficulty reaching the clutch. We were shockingly, deliciously unsupervised.