One of the stories that is told consistently every chance my dad has is about his first job. He loves to talk about how at 14 years old he lied that he was 16 to get a job washing pots and pans at a little bakery in Southfield. He would bike there every day and scrub the pots and pans until his hands were bloody. After work, my dad would go to play basketball with his friends, and had to wear baseball gloves because his hands would bleed on the ball. However this story wasn’t just another reason for my dad to complain about my siblings and I not having jobs, it’s always a way to compare his childhood to ours. It’s a way to put our privilege into perspective, and a way to show how we have developed our own responsibilities and skills while in completely different circumstances. We are lucky enough to not have to go through work like that, especially not at such a young age. While sometimes my dad pulls out that story to call me lazy in comparison to his younger self, it’s also a way for...