At Family Dinner, My Sister Introduced Her New Boyfriend — And For Some Reason, They All Kept Staring At Me. When He Asked What I Do For Work, My Mom Cut Me Off: “Don’t Embarrass Us.” Everyone Laughed. My Sister Added, “Maybe Lie This Time, So You Don’t Sound So Pathetic.” I Just Smiled… Until Their Faces Went Pale.

Then there was my sister Amanda, three years younger than me, but already following perfectly in our father’s medical footsteps. By 30, she was a promising surgical resident at the same hospital where Dad reigned supreme. She inherited his clinical detachment and Mother’s social grace. Amanda always knew exactly what to say, what to wear, and how to please our parents.

I, on the other hand, was the anomaly. From childhood, I found more comfort in nature than in country clubs. While my family discussed hospital politics over dinner, I’d be mentally framing the perfect shot of a Blue Jay outside our dining room window. My room was filled with nature books instead of medical journals. My first camera, a beat-up Nikon I bought with lawn-mowing money when I was 13, became my most prized possession.

“Photography is a hobby, Sheldon, not a career,” my father declared countless times. “Westbrooks are doctors and lawyers, not struggling artists.”

Even in high school, when my wildlife photos won state competitions, these accomplishments were dismissed as extracurricular activities that would look good on medical school applications. My parents indulged my passion only insofar as they believed I would eventually outgrow it.

The breaking point came during my third year of premed at Yale. I was maintaining a respectable GPA while secretly submitting photos to nature magazines. When I sold my first image to a regional wildlife publication, I felt more pride than I ever had acing a biology exam. That night, I called my parents, hoping finally for approval.

“That’s nice, honey,” my mother said distractedly. “But have you started your MCAT prep? Applications are due in six months.”

The next day, I dropped out of premed and switched my major to environmental studies with a minor in photography. When I finally gathered the courage to tell my parents over one of our mandatory Sunday dinners, my father’s face turned such a deep shade of red that I genuinely worried he might have a stroke.

“You’re throwing away everything we’ve built for you,” he shouted. “Everything we’ve sacrificed.”

My mother’s approach was different, but equally painful.

“Sheldon, darling, you’re just confused. Let’s make an appointment with Dr. Murray. He’s a wonderful therapist.”

Amanda sat silently, watching me become a disappointment in my parents’ eyes. Her slight smile told me everything. With me out of the running, she would now be the sole recipient of their pride and approval.Continue reading…