A few nights ago I was reading Mallory a book about a trio of ballerinas. There was Shy Di, who was, well, shy. There was Dizzy Izzy, who couldn't tell her left foot from her right. Then there was Showy Zoey, who was far too proud for the other's liking. "What's proud?" Mallory asked. "Proud is when...you feel good about yourself because you did something really well, or when you learn how to do something really hard," I said. "And it's okay to feel proud of yourself, but it's not okay to brag." "What's brag?" "Brag is when you talk too much about how good you are. It's okay to say, 'I learned how to write my letters!' But it's not okay to say, 'I can write my letters better than you.'" "Yeah, or you can say, 'I can write my letters, and so can you!'" Mallory said. And I was filled with pride for her, for getting it, for showing that deep down, and no matter how awful she...