MY WIFE GOT PREGNANT and I wanted a daughter, not a son. If you asked me why, I wouldn’t be sure how to explain it. We had our house up for sale and were leaving to go to the hospital to have the baby when a prospective buyer pulled up. I sat my wife in the car and gave the people a tour, then we went on. While I was pacing the floor in the maternity wing and my wife was in the delivery room, the people made an acceptable offer on the house. I sent a nurse in to tell my wife. After a while, her doctor came out. “They’re OK,” he said, rushing past me. “Is it a boy or a girl?” I asked. “They’ll tell you,” he called back, then he pushed through some doors and was gone. “Sonofabitch,” I think I muttered. Finally, a nurse called me back into a long corridor. “Wait here,” she instructed me. Then they wheeled my wife out on a gurney. She was cradling our new daughter, whose inquisitive eyes were wide open as she kept looking around, taking in her new world. She was alert and beautiful and healthy and she still is today, 47 years later. But I remember her birth day like it was yesterday.