My first memory of something I am certain actually happened is the time my mother lost me in Macy’s. I remember it in snatches: the crowds, my sudden bewilderment, my vehement sobbing. But mostly, I remember being whisked to a back office where cooing adults bought me every ice cream bar the employee vending machine offered — and the sound my mother made when she saw my chocolate-smeared face peering out from behind a security guard.