It was then I knew that not only would my daughter be OK, but that she’d persevere where I had foundered. The closest thing I’d ever had to a role model for the woman I wanted to be was Wonder Woman. But wearing silver cuffs made of tin foil pilfered from a kitchen drawer offered little protection against reality. And it couldn’t steel my resolve against all the societal forces telling me what I should wear or how I should act or even whether I should get married and become a mother at all. I like to think that women of my daughter’s generation will have a much easier time making those choices without pressure, without guilt, without feeling (or seeming) at all aberrant. And maybe, if they’re lucky, they’ll be able to see pink for what it really is—a color just like any other.