It was one of those nights that didn't go so well. Maybe bedtime came a little late, maybe she was hungry. Whatever the reason, our wonderful and capable and smart and kind daughter sat in her room sobbing, unable to cope with putting on her pajamas. We finally got her tucked in, finally got the stories told, the songs sung, finally repaired to the couch for the postmortem. There is nothing so strong in my life as the desire that my daughter be happy, healthy, whole; no worry as profound as that I may somehow screw her up.
Compared with the other prejudices that haunt our age, the bias against only children seems hardly worth...