I came home from work, tossed my keys on the table, and collapsed onto the couch. It had been a long day, and all I wanted was to relax.
The smell of something cooking drifted in from the kitchen. Lucy was at the stove, with Danny beside her, peeling carrots.
“Jack, can you set the table?” she asked.
I barely glanced up from my phone. “That’s your job.”
She sighed, and Danny quickly volunteered, “I’ll do it, Mommy!”
I shook my head. “You’re gonna turn him into a girl, you know.”
Lucy stiffened, but Danny frowned. “What’s wrong with helping, Daddy?”
“Boys don’t do housework,” I said, lounging on the couch.
Danny looked confused. Lucy smiled, patted him on the back, and handed him the silverware. “Go set the table.”
The next day, I overheard Lucy’s friends talking about an overnight conference. Lucy mentioned she was going and would be back by noon the next day. She asked me to take care of Danny and the house.
I rolled my eyes, “That’s easy.”
The next morning, I panicked when I woke up late. I rushed to get Danny dressed, grabbed whatever clothes I could find, and quickly threw together a breakfast that turned into a disaster. Danny wanted pancakes, but I gave him a banana.
By the time I dropped him off at school, I was frustrated and starving. I grabbed a quick hot dog, only to spill ketchup all over my shirt. At home, I tried to wash the shirt but got stuck on the washing machine. Then, I burned my work shirt while ironing, and cooking lunch turned into a smoke-filled mess.
I realized that housework wasn’t as easy as I thought. Growing up, I believed it wasn’t a man’s job. But now, I wasn’t so sure.
When I picked up Danny from school, he was shocked at the mess. I sighed, “I don’t know, bud. I tried, but nothing went right.”
Instead of complaining, Danny said, “Let’s clean up.” He showed me how to use the washing machine, load the dishwasher, and clean up the mess. At six years old, he was more capable than I was.
“Why do you help so much?” I asked.
“Because Mommy needs it,” he replied.
Those words hit me hard. I realized Lucy wasn’t nagging; she was just tired, like my mother had been. I hadn’t seen it before.
The next day, I came home and saw Lucy and Danny in the kitchen. Lucy asked if I wanted to help cook. A week ago, I would’ve ignored her. But now, I stepped forward, grabbed a knife, and joined them.
We weren’t just making dinner. We were finally working together.
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