Out with mom and my four-year-old daughter at a restaurant. I'm doing what I do, which is fidget with table implements like I've just discovered them and I wind up making a little arch by jamming a knife-blade between a fork's tines and standing it up on their squarish ends. "It's sculpture!" I announce to my daughter, who in turn starts fiddling with whatever she can find.
"I'm making sculpture!" she says.
"Girls don't do that," says mom.
I owe a lot to my mom, apart from thousands of dollars, but despite the fact that she clawed her way to the top of the pyramid by ignoring a bunch of crap about what men said she couldn't do, she doesn't seem too interested in questioning the assumptions that made her success a struggle.