Of course, the truth lies in a more nuanced, uncomfortable in-between. I desperately want to make a difference and not just a living. And if I can be a martyr who breaks his back to provide a better life for his kid, that’s all the better — it’s something to fuel both my hero complex and my self-hatred, and it buys me entry into the intergenerational brotherhood of a certain kind of American man with whom, until recently, I thought I had little in common.