“Your dirty brat will ruin my leather seats,” my wealthy sister sneered, kicking my 6-year-old daughter out into the torrential rain. I didn’t argue. Hours later, at a high-end family dinner, her credit card suddenly declined. As her phone blew up with emergency alerts, she turned pale and screamed, “What did you-” I just smiled and whispered…

inspected the colorful fragment between her fingers. “I really don’t like that day.”

“I know, baby. I don’t either.”

Then, she tilted her head to the side in that remarkably wise, slightly unnerving manner that children exhibit when they have successfully grown new, healthy tissue around a massive emotional laceration. “But you know what? I really, really continue reading …