Taking us on a bumpy ride, bumpy because we get to bump into our ignorance as kids, the ignorance that was boldly printed on our cerebral cortex as we sang this rhyme:

When I was just a little girl
I asked my mother, "What will I be?"
Will I be pretty, will I be rich?
Here's what she said to me:

Que sera, sera
Whatever will be, will be
The future's not ours to see
Que sera, sera
What will be, will be.

Que Sera sera, whatever will be will be, the...