The Golden Bullet

The culture of overachievement at my high school both disgusted and infected me. My decision to attend USC garnered a B reaction from my teachers and classmates; not a respectable Ivy League A, but better than a barely passing University of [Insert Midwest State] C. The school typically sends as many graduating seniors to USC as it does to the local University of Hawaii campus, which ranks as the equivalent of a D.

In undergrad, I told my parents I wanted to be a college professor. It validated my choice of major (first Comparative Lit, then English) for my father. My brother Keola also majored in English. He turned down business school at Oxford and became a radio DJ instead. Almost 10 years later, he still DJs, and he still loves it.

When it became clear that I would not follow some prestigious career path, I wondered how my dad would react to the fact that I would have a B job after attending a B school. My oldest brother, Kalama, received dual degrees in Law and Public Policy from Harvard and UC Berkeley's Boalt Hall. He served as the editor of the Law Review in his last year of school and secured a six-figure job at some high-profile New York firm a solid month before graduation. And he's set to make partner at his current firm next year.

Clearly, Kalama is the golden child, far from perfect but aptly filling the mold that our father so carefully designed. A couple years ago, I realized that this isn't what Kalama wanted. He does it, but like the rest of the martyrs in our family, he took a bullet for his siblings. He became what our dad wanted so Keola and I wouldn't have to. I call it the golden bullet. He calls it paying the bills. I wonder if the label makes a difference.