My mother once tried to punish me by sending me to my room. I must have done something pretty bad to warrant such a sentence, though I don't recall now what that was. She probably does. My mom's like an elephant. She rarely forgets anything, and if she does, she'll makes up something even better that quickly becomes the standard family truth. On that day, furious, she escorted me through the door of my room with a stern point of the finger, then pulled the door closed with a firm click. Two hours later, she returned. "You can come out now," she said. "That's OK," I said, smiling. She peered in to see that I'd set up all my stuffed animals around the bed. It was a theater-in-the-round and I was having a grand time enacting some sort of play for them. She laughed, shook her head and headed down the hall. Children without siblings learn early and well to entertain themselves. We are our own best audiences. My buddy Janine and I -- she, too, was