When my mom asked if I would drive her all the way into the city to see Aunt Theresa in the hospital, I said no prob. Ian and I had to get out of the house. The air quality had degenerated seriously due to all the work being done on the roof.

Aunt Theresa is an old family friend from the Bronx who is sick with bone cancer. Without any close relatives, a couple of old friends like my mother have had to step in to care for her and her paperwork. Always a strong personality, Aunt Theresa isn’t going gracefully, and my poor mom is taking a lot of abuse as she holds the old woman’s hand.

My mom’s responsibilities keep expanding, despite her increasing age. She minds five grandkids and countless sick old people. She even helps out at a convent in town that houses nuns put out to pasture. Mom drives them to the hairdresser and says the rosary with them weekly. Mom badly needs some time to herself.

On the way into the city, Ian sat contentedly in the backseat. He thought he was going to score a subway ride and was really ticked off later when the A train didn’t materialize. While Ian dreamed of trains, Mom and I chatted about a recent phone call from the PTA.

I let Jonah’s school principal know that I had an academia background and offered to help out in the school. I don’t know what I had in mind. Maybe helping out on a grant or serving on a committee.

Instead, I got a call from the PTA lady, who asked for “Mrs. Husbandslastname.” No where in the modern world does anybody still use titles, except within the public schools. Ever since I graduated from high school, I have called all adults by their first name. All this Mrs. stuff drives me batty. When I corrected the PTA lady and said that I was Laura Mylastname, she seemed completely baffled. Usually, I’m good natured about the name business, but that day I had PMS and demanded to know who this was and what it was about.

She said that the principal has said that I was interested in helping out the school and that I could shelve books in the library. I’ll admit it. I was rather stunned. I thought my skills could have been better spent elsewhere. Would they ask a guy to do that? Is that where they put the pesky parents to isolate them from doing any real work in the school? Shouldn’t the schools be paying someone to do a job like that?

It doesn’t help that I’m not really all that enthusiastic about our town’s PTA. It’s a bit sorority sister for me; the moms get a little too enthusiastic about pajama bingo night. I’m sure that they raise some needed money for the schools, but there’s a lot of silliness, too.

Women are doing vast amounts of unpaid community work. Some of it real important stuff, like my mom does carrying for the babies and the old. Some if it is pointless busy work. Some of it is an excuse for a social life.

It’s difficult sorting through these demands of time deciding which is important and what’s ridiculous. I have the feeling that most guys never have to deal with these decisions. Nobody expects them to drive to the hospital or to checkout school books. Men’s time is too precious.

Like I said, I was pissy that day. I’ll probably call back the PTA lady and do the library grunt work for an hour or two, and I’ll draw the line there. It’ll also give me the chance to wave at my kid in his classroom. Just don’t ask me to work on pajama bingo night.