Then there was me, the child who was always described as useful and mature. Those words sound like compliments until you realize they are used to explain why one child must bear more than the others.
I was the one who could handle disappointment and manage my own problems without making a scene. Because I had learned how to contain myself, I was continually given more reasons to do exactly that.
When Dominic wanted to attend an elite boarding school in New Hampshire, my parents treated the tuition figures as noble investments. They drove him there like a prince being installed in his proper future while writing the checks without hesitation.
When Penny became interested in horseback riding, my mother described it as a graceful passion. Within months, Penny had a custom trainer and expensive boots that cost more than most people make in a month.
When I asked to attend a modest art camp in Phoenix, my father looked over his newspaper and told me that money does not grow on trees. My mother followed with a moral lecture about how I needed to learn the value of hard work.