My daughter turned six, and do you know what my husband bought her? A red vinyl doctor’s bag for children. She unwrapped the gift in the living room of our New Jersey home, which was filled with cake-eating kindergartners and their parents. When I saw it, I said nothing. I only wished I’d been born a more confrontational and assertive person, so that I might have torn the bag from my daughter’s arms in those few seconds before she could become attached to it. Instead I sneaked into the kitchen, where I ate half a can of cashews by myself. (This was about all I could eat anymore: cashews and other unhealthy nuts.) Only after eating the cashews did I have the energy to rejoin the party, so long as I didn’t have to speak of or look at the red vinyl doctor’s bag. But I found that I couldn’t not look at it. It was at the very center of the table, large and ominously heavy — the largest and heaviest of the presents, in fact. A metal snap on its front had been popped open to reveal eight different doctor’s tools, each held in place by plastic prongs.