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The original title for this editorial was “saying goodbye and thanks” but it occurred to me that some might leap to the conclusion that I have decided to retire as editor. Being uncertain whether this would be greeted with glee or gloom, I decided to change the title to the above.
In the normal course of events, when an author receives a galley, the instructions are to check it carefully, make no major changes, and return within 48 hours. One of the many benefits of being an editor is that such rules can, at times, be broken. When I received the galley of the editorial I originally wrote for this issue, my heart sank. It was a set of unrelated ideas, none developed sufficiently well to merit publication. So, at the risk of upsetting our devoted technical editor, I asked that it be replaced with this one, which I hope clearly says what I want it to say.
I wrote the first draft of this editorial some time after one of my mentors, Jack Tizard, died. Jack was a world renowned psychologist with whom I worked on the Isle of Wight study, which, parenthetically, paid no attention to injuries. Nevertheless, he played a critical role in my training and was a good friend. I deeply regretted that I had not thanked him properly for all he did for me before he died. And he was only one of many mentors about whom the same misgivings applied. Hence, this editorial.
I was reminded of this unpublished draft when I delivered an acceptance speech for the Ross Award from the Canadian Pediatric Society. As is customary on such occasions, I thanked my families—my …