Driving into the school’s pickup lane, I searched the crowd of children for my own carpool gang. I spotted my son, laughing heartily. He wore a black heavy metal concert T-shirt — a gift from his dad. Hanging conspicuously from his shoulder was a backpack — not his own, but one I recognized as his sister’s. It was white with a bold print of purple, black and pink butterflies and flowers. My son strutted to the car, flaunting it.