This is your family’s land. You’ve lived here all your life, and you’re not leaving just because you’re the youngest. It wouldn’t be fair.
Instead, you start farming with your brother Abraham.
“You are getting along?” Mother asks. You nod and smile, but fake-gag when she isn’t watching.
It wouldn’t be so bad, if Abraham would only listen to you.
“But Abraham, the weather—”
“No, Little Jacob, we’re sowing the wheat now.”
“Who are you calling little?”
One day, Abraham calls you “little” once too often. Long story short, you take a swing at him … and you end up with a black eye and a loose tooth.
The black eye is simple enough, but you head to the doctor to have him finish off the tooth. Sitting in the waiting room, tooth throbbing, you scowl. This isn’t working.
There’s an available lot far away from your family. You could buy it and have your own farm. Striking out alone is better than losing more teeth.
Or maybe it’s time to leave farming. They need a clerk over at the mill.
Which do you choose?