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The underlying message was clear. Sophia was blessed with gifts, while I merely compensated with effort.<\/p>\n
I was eight years old when I brought home my first perfect spelling test. My father glanced at it and said, \u201cGood job, kiddo,\u201d before returning to his newspaper. That same evening, Sophia\u2014only three\u2014stacked blocks in what my parents deemed an exceptionally advanced pattern, earning her ice cream and endless praise.<\/p>\n
This pattern continued throughout my childhood. My straight As were expected, not celebrated. When I made the honor roll every year in high school, my mother would nod and say, \u201cThat is what happens when you study.\u201d Meanwhile, when Sophia got her first B+, our parents took her out for a special dinner to celebrate her \u201cbreakthrough.\u201d<\/p>\n
Money in our household always seemed to flow toward Sophia\u2019s pursuits: private dance lessons, expensive soccer camps, custom debate suits. No expense was spared. When I needed a new graphing calculator or wanted to attend a summer science program, I was gently reminded about family budget constraints and encouraged to find part\u2011time work. By sixteen, I was working weekends at the local bookstore, saving every dollar for college. My parents had started a college fund for both of us, but Sophia\u2019s activities had slowly drained mine.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou are so responsible with money, Kay,\u201d my mother said, as if my forced frugality were a character virtue rather than a necessity.<\/p>\n
My birthdays became predictable exercises in disappointment. My sixteenth birthday dinner was canceled because it conflicted with Sophia\u2019s regional dance competition. My eighteenth was remembered two days late with a hastily purchased card and a twenty\u2011dollar bill. By my twenty\u2011first, I had stopped expecting anything at all.<\/p>\n