My mother wanted to buy me a gold heart locket, from Fortunoff’s. I was in my 30s, and a gold heart locket to me was the epitome of everything my mother wanted me to be that I was not. I often called it her “other” daughter, the one she wished she had. But I was not that other daughter; I was the actual daughter who chose not to share her valuing of material signs of social status. We fought a lot about things like this: gold jewelry, fine linen suits, Italian-made shoes... The more she pushed, the more I viciously ridiculed. And now it was a gold heart locket. I mentioned the conflict to Sandy, an older friend of mine. In response he told me the story of how his father, who had died recently, had once wanted to buy Sandy a “real” coat. At some point Sandy realized that for whatever reason, it meant a lot to his father; and that he could choose to say yes and accept the coat as a gift without being critical... and without feeling compelled to actually wear it if he didn’t want to. He suggested I try that strategy. So I accepted my mother’s offer of a gold heart locket. I even participated in choosing one at Fortunoff’s. Back home, I put two tiny photos in the locket: one of my son Jacob... and one of my friend Sandy. A reminder of the possibility of opening the heart – and something I still cherish.