You are born into wealth. You also don't enter life alone. You are a spontaneous set of triplets. Your mother's first journey into motherhood and she and your father got the three for one deal.
You come three minutes after Cara and Caroline comes seven minutes after you. Hence, you are stuck in the middle. You are the only son though. The heir and your father and grandfather are elated to pass on their name to you. Charles Tristan Bishop III. The only problem is that the adult members of your family don't know what to call you as Charles I is called Charles and your father is dubbed Charlie. It is your mother who insists on calling you Tristan as there are far too many C names running amok in this family of hers and by golly, she is the matriarch and she wants to have a say. Her husband learned early on not to mess with Philomena if one wanted their head still firmly attached to the rest of their body. Yu come from a long line of broom-makers. It started before you or your sisters were born. Your grandfather's father started it.
The finest American-made brooms. BBC in the American wizarding community stood for Bishop Brooming Company. It was desired for you from the time that you were young. You would eventually inherit the company from your father as was the tradition. You were the male Bishop and those were the expectations. Broom-making was a craft. There was just one slight problem. The moment you discovered this so-called legacy that you were to be tasked with taking on. You didn't want it. You were ten. You hated heights. You succeeded in crashing every toy broom you were ever gifted into a tree, your mother's favorite lamp, you name it. It eventually got rammed into. Of course, leave it to Cara to fly circles around you. Eyes wide and eager at watching grandfather made brooms with precision.