Parents gave my sister $100,000 for a house and gave me nothing but you’re the failure. So, I stopped calling them. Two years later, my sister drove past my property and called dad screaming, “You need growing up as the second daughter in the Martinez family meant existing in permanent shadow. My older sister, Veronica, got the sunshine while I learned to navigate by whatever dim light filtered through. Mom and dad never bothered hiding their preferences. Veronica walked at 9 months. I stumbled around until 14 months, which apparently sealed my fate as the disappointing child before I could even form sentences.
Every family has dynamics, but ours felt carved in stone. Veronica made honor role throughout elementary school. I brought home mostly bees with the occasional A minus, which prompted Dad to ask what was wrong with me at every parent teacher conference. She played varsity volleyball and dad never missed a game, filming every serve and spike. I joined the art club and mom forgot to pick me up so many times that Mrs. Chen, our adviser, started driving me home herself.
The pattern repeated through every milestone. Veronica got a car for her 16th birthday. I used Honda Civic that dad spent three weekends detailing until it gleamed. When my 16th rolled around, they took me to dinner at Applebee’s and gave me a gift card for $50. Mom said I should be grateful they remembered it all given how busy they were with Veronica’s college applications.
College became another chasm between us. Veronica got into UCLA with a partial academic scholarship. My parents covered the rest, roughly 30,000 a year without blinking. They threw her a graduation party before she even left, inviting everyone from our church and dad’s office. I watched from the kitchen, refilling chip bowls, while relatives I barely knew congratulated my parents on raising such an accomplished daughter.
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