Some children’s bedtime stories involve fairies, princesses and frogs; ours always involved our family living under a bridge destitute, homeless and filled with shame. These nightly warnings came from her uncontrollable fear that our way of life would be swept away should my father’s alcoholism be discovered by the outer world. She tirelessly lied; covering his tracks to ensure her three little chicks weren’t cast out of society and into the gutter. We were expected to follow suit and thus I received my PHD in Lying Arts before the age of twelve.