Growing up, my younger brother Mason was the star. Charismatic, reckless, and perpetually getting himself into some kind of trouble, he somehow always landed on his feet. He possessed a smug charm that my parents consumed like candy. Even when he dropped out of college, blew through two jobs in six months, and ended up moving back home at twenty-eight, they still defended him with the fierce loyalty usually reserved for prodigies or saints. I, on the other hand, had paid my own way through school with scholarships and part-time jobs, held down the same demanding position in my firm for over a decade, and helped cover a portion of their mortgage when my dad’s hours at the plant were cut. But none of that ever seemed to matter. At least not enough to earn me a seat at the metaphorical head of the table.