“Mom, can I have this?” my daughter asked.
We were browsing in a toy store and Sara had picked up one of those little wooden animals with jointed legs that move when you push on the base.
“No,” I said. “You’d be bored with that in ten minutes.”
Like a good daughter, Sara put it back on the shelf. Like a bad mother, I put it out of my mind. Years later she told me how this experience had affected her. “I was just crushed,” she said.
“I really said that?” I asked.
“You really said that,” she said.