When I was a child, my grandmother, who we lived with for a few years and whose house I spent nearly every weekend and summer day at, used to make me swear — a lot. Not that kind of swearing. If I made a promise, she’d ask: Do you swear on it? I promise I will eat my vegetables. If you swore on it, you meant it. She made me raise my pinky and say, “I swear.” And if you broke that swear, it…