My mother had faith in the basement. When I invited coed groups of friends over my freshman and sophomore years of high school, she left us alone at the bottom of the stairs, unsurveilled, as she drank wine with my father, worked late at the kitchen table, or went to bed early. She trusted the ping-pong table, TV, and video games to absorb whatever raucous energy our teenage hormones created, to block or distract us from our dangerous urges. She believed that if we had healthy outlets, wholesome ways to have fun, we wouldn’t need to rebel.