Both his parents were progressive: his father liberal to the point of provoking a cross burning on his lawn by the Ku Klux Klan and his mother “gallant” and “strong minded” enough to play the new, radical compositions of Gershwin. Dr. Brazelton’s father came home from World War I and felt rejected by his then 9-month-old son, whose expected stranger anxiety made him burst into tears when he left his mother’s arms for the first time to be hugged by his father. This moment became iconic: “I’m sure he loved me, but I never really knew him. My mother fostered that distance with what I now see as unconscious ‘gatekeeping’” (p. 5). When he was 2 ½ years old, his brother, Churchill Jones Brazelton, was born, and he instantly experienced the competition with his “cute” brother. Dr. Brazelton simply admits, “I hated him.” His mother doted on the new baby, never fostered appropriate autonomy, and increased the resentment between the two brothers, as well as between mother and older son. He was never close to his brother, who sadly lived a dependent life and died of alcoholism at age 60. His distant relationship with his father and brother are but two of many stories linking childhood experiences to his later passionate career goals of caring for children. I cannot help recounting one more. At Princeton, he was a gifted student and a talented actor. He was offered a role with Ethel Merman and encouraged by Jimmy Stewart to go to Hollywood. His family firmly said no to these options, demanding he stay premed. Yet anyone who has seen Dr. Brazelton’s mesmerizing films of his work with infants knows he would have been a star of stage and screen.