When Marcus decided he wanted to attend a private boarding school in Connecticut because several sons of my father’s colleagues had gone there and he liked the idea of “building serious connections early,” my parents treated the decision as though he had been accepted into some noble order. There were campus visits. Discussions over dinner. Brochures spread across the breakfast table. Tuition figures reviewed not as obstacles but as investments. Dad called it positioning. Mom called it opportunity. Marcus called it “the obvious move.”
The checks were written.
The trunks were packed.
The whole family drove him there like he was a prince being installed in his proper future.
When Olivia became interested in equestrian competitions, my mother described it as “such a graceful passion.” Not a hobby. A passion. Within months, Olivia had a horse, custom boots, lessons at the most exclusive riding academy in the state, and a trainer who spoke about her “instinctive seat” in the reverent tone adults use when they want a child to feel chosen.