摘要
Recently I was reminded of a story which my mother swears is trus (though she doesn t call me Bobby muchanymore):Back in 1958,when I was just past four years old,my parents gave me a young parakeet.My mother determinedthat our parakeet would learn to talk,and to this end sat at the microphone of a borrowed tape recorder for a full 1/2hour,saying over and over again:“Pretty bird!Pretty bird!Pretty bird!Pretty bird!...”and so on.The resultingtaped message was played for our parakeet at least once pe...
