Keep Your Mercedes I Want More

The day my brother got his new car, I made a half-serious joke to my dad about where mine was.

He froze for a second, then rummaged through a junk drawer and tossed a pair of rusted keys onto the counter.

"That’s the rig I drove ten years ago," he said, not looking at me. "She’s old, but the wheels still turn. We’re short on drivers for the fertilizer hauls at the plant anyway. It’s a perfect fit for you."

I didn’t cry. I didn’t even argue.

I knew the truth: I couldn't afford the insurance on an $80,000 Mercedes, let alone the gas. But this beat-up truck that no one else wanted?