“Why do you always have to say something? Can’t you, just once, not say anything?” I had just annoyed my daughter for the third time in a five-minute conversation by telling her she was making a poor choice by paying more for jeans that came with holes already in them. . . which was true . . .but why did I have to say it? She was twenty years old, and if she wanted to pay more for jeans that were ripped and holey rather than pay less for jeans with no holes or rips, who was I to say anything about it? Yet, I couldn’t stop myself. I was that dad.