In the fall of 1963, when I was 10 years old and home from 5th grade for a few weeks with a mystery illness, my father shared with me a collection of drawings he had done as classwork during his studies to become an architect at NYU in the late 1930s. I was enthralled with the images, which ranged from ancient Greek buildings to American modernism and everything in between, some of them historical monuments and some imaginary. I spent hours engaged, determined, and frustrated as I tried to copy his drawings. I remember feeling like they weren't very good, but I came across them recently and 53 years later they don't look as bad as I thought.