My parents made me stand in the backyard and watch while they burned my moisturizer like it was contraband. The flames licked up around the plastic bottles, warping labels and releasing a thick, chemical smell. My mother stood with her arms crossed, eyes bright, as if we were at some kind of ceremony. My father tossed another bottle into the fire pit like he was feeding it fuel. “You’re spitting on everything we’ve taught you,” Mom said. I clenched my jaw and stared at the flames instead of meet