One day my older son, Zubin, walked into his first-grade classroom, his small fingers sparkling with metallic gold and black polish. The night before, we’d sat cross-legged on the bathroom floor, our laughter echoing as I carefully painted each nail while he chattered about dinosaurs. It was one of those perfect parenting moments—simple, joyful, connective.

But by afternoon pickup, something had changed. Zubin looked deflated, quieter than usual. When I asked, he told me a teacher had said, “Only girls wear nail polish.”