I was trying to describe my stepson to my counselor the other day in a way he could understand my frustration. "Everything he does is an act of protest," I told him, describing how Frizz hadn't cut his hair in 9 months, played music at ear-splitting levels, preferred his falling-apart shoes over anything new his father bought him, and locked himself in his room rather than joining in with the family. But the counselor wasn't understanding. Each level of defiance I shared was met with a murmur of approval, as if he were impressed with how Frizz chose to fight us.