Parents live in a world where their children sit in the center of the universe. No child is better, smarter, cuter, or as miraculous as their own. I've heard parents as honest as fishermen when describing their children's accomplishments, but lately I've been struck less by the intensity and more by the subject matter of parents' pride.

Take, for instance, red hair. Until I got my own carrot top, I never knew how many parents yearn for red-haired children—-or how many parents live in a fantasy world pretending their children actually have it. My daughter had bright red hair from day one, to the point of rivaling Ronald McDonald. Since her father, an uncle, and an aunt all had bright red hair as children, having another redhead in the family didn't exactly shock anyone.

But where the family lacked in response, the neighbors filled in. Suddenly they began pretending their children had red hair, as if they had been left out of an exclusive club.

"Oh, look, dear," one mother said to her daughter on seeing mine, "She has red hair just like you." The daughter's hair color resembled Marilyn Monroe's.

A few months before my daughter's birth, two other girls were born in the neighborhood. The first had red hair. The mother of the second baby cooed at Samantha.

"Wow. There's a lot of redheads in the neighborhood," she said. "The Smiths' baby, mine, and now yours." I hadn't remembered her daughter being a redhead, so I glanced over. Blonde. Maybe a hint of strawberry if you squinted in dim light.

"It's all right to admit your daughter is blonde. It's not as if red hair is an indication of intelligence, for crying out loud." That's what I thought. But aloud I said, "Three of them. Wow. There must be something in the water."

My experience associated with red hair has only ballooned. When my second daughter was born, the nurses oohed and aaahed over her red hair. But hers was darker than her older sister's, and I vowed that if it went brown, I wouldn't pretend it hadn't changed. A third daughter has now joined what our doctor calls our "Red-haired brigade."

As a result of watching twisted pride in offspring hair color, I've observed with interest other bizarre issues that parents cling to in desperate attempts to impress others. As one mother fed her eleven-month-old baby from a Gerber jar, another mother with a baby all of a month younger declared, "Tommy has been off of baby food for two months now." Apparently, the earlier a baby can choke down a t-bone steak, the better.

I've seen other brag moments about equally irrelevant issues. Consider two aunts with sons born within months of each other. They reminisce about when their boys first met, at age three and one months old. Upon meeting, the older of the two, Richie, had grabbed Mikie's hand and shoved it into his mouth. At the memory, the mothers chuckle. Then pride begins to bubble like an underwater creature surfacing.

"So how many teeth does Richie have now?" Mikie's mother asks innocently.

Unsure what brought the topic on, Richie's mother responds that her son has six teeth.

Mikie's mother snorts. "Well, Mikie has eight, so if the tables were turned now, Mikie could do more damage."

Since when did biting your cousin—-and being capable of causing more damage than the victim-—become a point of pride? Unless, of course, Mikie's parents hope their son will be the next Mike Tyson, in which case those extra teeth might prove useful.

Anyone who has ever been a parent has seen these things and can probably add endlessly to the list of brag topics: first words, first steps, first encyclopedia read. Such stories used to really irritate me, but after hearing parents spin yarns about their children for several years now, I am beyond that. Now I simply smile and nod.

After all, they're just proud of their kidlets, even if their logic is flawed. There's no reason to be defensive at comparisons or even roll my eyes at their stories. Because my kids are smarter than theirs anyway.

And three of them have red hair.