When I was nine or thereabouts, my friend Reese and I would spend hours drawing faces on paper plates. We were convinced we were going to make humanoid robots and we thought the paper plates could be their faces. We never got farther than these Crayola caricatures, but we never cared. Results were irrelevant. The fun was in the process. And we never doubted that, one day, we would have our robots. Another of the deeply-held childhood convictions that I believed despite a