It happened after dinner one night, many years ago. At the time, I think I was in my teens. My grandfather, who only spent part of the year visiting us, got up from the dining room table and invited my father and me into another room for a chat. He felt it was time for one of those man-to-man moments exclusive of the women – his wife (my grandmother), my mother and my sister. I promised I would be along shortly, but then added something that caught him off guard.
“I’m going to help clean up the dirty dishes first,” I said.
He gave the dishes and the table a condescending gesture with the back of his hand. Then he scolded me. “No. No,” he said. “That’s women’s work.”
