My Mother’s “Fairness” Ruined My LifeChapter 1
Before I was born, my parents made a deal: the first child would take Dad's last name, and the second would take Mom's.
They also agreed that no matter which name a child carried, both would be treated equally.
But the moment I actually took my mother's surname, my father changed his tune.
He poured every ounce of his energy and every dollar he had into my older brother.
And for me, he had exactly one line:
"You took your mother's name. You're her problem."
Dorothy Sawyer fought him over it. She screamed, she argued, she begged. But Dad did whatever he wanted, same as always.
Mom, on the other hand, insisted on treating us both the same.
"I'm a good mother. I'm not going to play favorites the way your father does. Whatever you get, your brother gets too."
Mom only made twelve hundred dollars a month. Supporting two of us on that was already a stretch.
But she still scraped together money to buy my brother new clothes and new shoes.
When it came time for college, she couldn't come up with the tuition.
"Sweetie, if I give you six thousand for tuition, I have to give your brother six thousand too. I just don't have that kind of money."
"Why don't you apply for a student loan?"
I froze.
I clearly remembered that just yesterday, she'd bought my brother a pair of sneakers that cost a thousand dollars.
And today—
She was telling me to take out loans for school.
——
The image of those brand-new sneakers burned in my mind, and I couldn't hold it in anymore.
So I didn't.
I turned on my mother and let her have it.
"You had money to buy him thousand-dollar sneakers, but you want me to take out loans for college?"
"Have you even thought about how much I'd owe after four years? After tuition, have you considered whether what's left would even be enough for me to live on?"
I was so angry I paced circles around the living room.
Mom shot back, indignant:
"I did the math. If you're careful with your spending, it's enough."
A student loan of twenty thousand a year. Four years meant eighty thousand. After tuition, that left roughly a thousand a month for everything else.
If nothing unexpected happened, and I pinched every penny, sure. Technically enough.
But that wasn't how it worked. It meant the second I graduated, I'd be eighty thousand dollars in debt. And student loans accrued interest after graduation.