Eventually my parents figured out we could blink the front porch lights on and off to signal that we would like her to come home. It was merely a suggestion—the way my father felt about traffic lights (he called a red light “just a suggestion”). Molly would come home when she felt like it. This bothered me not at all. I certainly didn’t expect her to obey me. Why should she? By the time I was five, she was only two—but she, by then, was a full adult. I considered her not only my superior, but my role model. I did not even realize that my view of our relationship wasn’t endorsed by other
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