THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1994, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Tuesday, August 9, 1994 TAG: 9408090415
SECTION: LOCAL PAGE: B1 EDITION: FINAL
TYPE: Column
SOURCE: Marc Tibbs
LENGTH: Medium: 61 lines
Black men are more ``egalitarian'' about housework than their white counterparts, according to a sociology study released recently.
That report might have come as a surprise to many who read it, but as one who has lived with a few black women, I found it to be old news.
Phrases like ``Get your feet off that sofa before you find yourself walking on ankles'' or ``My name's not Hazel, and I don't get paid to pick up after you'' are bountiful quips in a black woman's household. Maxims like these still resonate years after hearing them.
Like most kids, I had a host of household chores: putting out the garbage, mopping floors, mowing the lawn, cleaning the garage, just to name a few. My only allowance then was room and board. But ignore one of these chores and the wrath of Mom was quickly upon you.
Once I deliberately ``forgot'' to do something Mom told me.
My older sister tried warning me, but I wouldn't listen. What could Mom do to me anyway? I was much bigger than she was, so a whuppin' was clearly out of the question. Her only recourse was a little yelling and screaming, and I thought I could handle that.
My sister clicked her tongue - tsk, tsk, tsk - and shook her head in pity when I offered my mother some flip remark about why I hadn't done what she'd asked.
Predictably, Mom was furious, but instead of getting hysterical, she quietly began planning like a woman at war.
As if presiding over some sort of domestic court-martial, she thrust her hand in front of me and demanded my house key. Seeing the look in her eyes, I wasn't about to refuse.
Teeth clenched and lips pursed, she gave implicit instructions to everyone not to open the door for me under any circumstances. Then she showed me out.
``Don't let the doorknob hit you,'' she said.
Hours later I was tapping on the back door, hoping one of my brothers would come through for me.
No chance.
Both of them were older and already had learned their lessons about crossing this woman.
I knocked harder on the door. Finally, an hour or so later, Mom appeared. She let me in, but not before giving me that bone-chilling gaze.
The next day, determined to make it up to her, I finished my chores in record time. I tried being helpful in other ways, but she wouldn't say a word to me.
It seemed like weeks before she spoke to me again, and when she finally did, she made a point of reminding me I had been treading on very thin ice.
Today, I'm no Mr. Belvedere around the house, but when my wife glares at me because I was home all day and didn't start the dishwasher, or when she cocks her head and looks at me out of the corner of her eye because I didn't wash all the dirty laundry, I quickly check my pockets for my key ring.
Being egalitarian is fine. But what motivates me more is the thought of homelessness. by CNB