When I was in third grade, I became fascinated with dinosaurs. Woolworth’s used to sell small, rubber triceratops, tyrannosaurs, pterodactyls and all the rest, complete with names, sizes, and sometimes their prehistoric era on the bottom. Every time we got near the store, I was begging my Mom or Dad for one more to add to my collection. I checked out every book in our small town library on dinosaurs, paleontology, Roy Chapman Andrews, etc. I followed every lead and link suggested, so soon I knew about the eras and epochs — Jurassic and Cretaceous, I knew about the LaBrea tar pits and the early, giant mammals trapped therein, I knew about excavation techniques, and I knew where and why dinosaur fossils were most likely to be found. I presented my hobby as a “learning project” in third grade, stunning the teacher with my knowledge sufficiently that she invited in the Superintendent to watch me do it again. I went to other classrooms to present – some kids wanted to have certain ones “fight” each other in their rubbery glory, but I would clarify and point out that the mastodon and the allosaurus lived in different time periods and probably