My parents called at 1 A.M. screaming, “Wire $20,000—your brother’s in the ER!” I asked one question… and they dodged it. So I said, “Call your favorite daughter,” hung up, and went back to sleep. The next morning… police were at my door.

“Dad,” I said carefully, “tell me the name of the hospital.”

My mother suddenly jumped back into the conversation with louder sobs.

“Why are you arguing about this?” she cried. “He is your brother.”

That sentence had worked on me many times before.

In the past those words would have pulled me out of bed instantly. I would have grabbed my wallet, opened my banking application, and started moving money around like someone trying to plug holes in a sinking boat.

The reason was simple.

Travis was forty two years old and had been described as the child with endless potential since he was twelve. My parents had always protected him and excused his mistakes. He had crashed two cars, accumulated enormous credit card debt, and left several jobs after dramatic arguments about unfair bosses. Each time he somehow returned to my parents’ house and slept on their couch until another plan appeared.

In my family responsibility did not fall evenly.

My younger sister Allison, who was ten years younger than me, was still described by my mother as the baby of the family even though she was thirty two years old and had a career of her own. Allison received comfort and patience whenever she made mistakes.