The other day, one of our neighbors, a girl of around eight or so, came by to play with the kids. In a gesture that must’ve seemed awkward to begin with, I tossed them a Ken doll we’d had perched in the library, sort of keeping an eye on the place, for the past several weeks, just to give them something do. Within minutes, through some manner of kid-silliness and who knows what else, she and the boys had managed to disrobe him entirely, discard his clothing (I still haven’t found it) and cast him aside onto the hardwood floor, hunched over and twisted and robbed of his dignity — yet somehow, through it all, and true to form, still smiling. I felt for him. So I gave him my chair.