Kim (not her real name) and I bonded when our sons played on the same travel basketball team. For years, we spent weekend after weekend together in loud, testosterone-filled gyms, rife with the smell of boy sweat and breakfast sandwiches. We always sat in the same place on the unforgiving bleachers, midway up in the center, and picked up our conversation from where we left off at the previous practice or game. Sometimes we lightly trashed the coaches, chastising them for how they ignored our respective son’s potential and didn’t give them enough playing time. But mainly we gossiped about the other parents (quietly and sometimes in code).