The Good Son

My friend, Dominic, is a remarkable person.  He is curious, observant, intelligent, and very diligent in whatever he does.  It took us less than fifteen minutes to hit it off after we met at the orientation camp in college.  

After graduating with a first class honor degree in building and construction, Dominic worked for a prestigious surveying firm.  He, then, enrolled into a master degree program in urban planning.  As always, he did very well.  Before he was due for graduation, multiple big firms already lined up to hire him.  Everything was looking so good.

Dominic is normally funny and talkative when we see each other.  On this day, he seemed different.  Something was weighing on him.

The older of two sons, Dominic was a mature soul since a young age.  At home, he did chores and helped take care of his little brother.  In school, he made good grades and was very well-behaved.  After class, he worked part time jobs so that, not only could he provide pocket money for himself, but he could even give some money to his mother.   

Contrary to Dominic, his younger brother never helped at home.  Nor did he do well in school.  To top it off, he often engaged in problematic behaviors that landed his parents in the principal's office.  "My brother is quite a handful," Dominic said.  "But, he is my mom's favorite."

"This has always been troubling to me.  I work so hard all my life to be a good son.  My teachers and friends praise me and tell me I have been doing all the right things.   My parents never have to worry about me.  Yet, I feel invisible in front of them, particularly my mother, as if she does not see me at all.  All her attention goes to my brother.

For years, I thought I just need to try harder to get her to appreciate me.  However, no matter how hard I try, nothing changes.  It angers me.  Why am I not worthy of her love?  Why does she rather love my troublemaker brother than to love me?  It feels so unfair.  It saddens me.

When I was getting dressed, as I went through my clothes in the closet, I had an epiphany:  I bought all my clothes.  I picked them and I paid for them myself.  Needless to say, I like them all.  Still, I have my favorites.  If I can have favorites when I get to choose all my clothes, wouldn't it be reasonable for my mom to have a favorite when she does not get to choose who her sons are?

This does not help me understand why she doesn't love me.  Yet, it helps me accept the fact that I am not her favorite and will never be her favorite.  I think, I am going to be okay with it.  I have lived this way all my life.  I guess I can manage to go on without her blessing."

"So, what do you think?" Dominic turned to look at me and broke out a smile.  

I did not know what to say.  What he said blew my mind.  I did not grow up to be my parents' or grandparents' favorite either.  I resonated in many of my friend's sentiments of being the non-favorite.  However, I was not enlightened enough to get over it the way he did.

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Recently, I watched a Taiwanese movie called "The Sun".  The family in the story also has two sons -- a model child -- the father's favorite, and a troublemaker, who is very jealous of his older brother.  The favored older son says to a friend that he thinks the sun is the fairest thing in the world because, no matter where you are, you get to have half your time in the sun and have the time in the dark.  He texted to a friend about their visit to the zoo together:  "On this scorching hot, sunny day, all the animals sought shelter in the shade.  Some hid under a tree, some went under a rock for relief.  My father, my mother, and even my brother finds shade when they need it.  In my world, however, it is bright and sunny 100% of the time.  There is no shade.  I have nowhere to hide."  Not long after he sent that text, he ended his young life.

Apparently, being the favorite can be quite a burden to bear.  It may not be as enviable as it seems.  I wish so much someone had handed him a parasol . . .