Many years ago, back in the day when men avoided doing any form of house work because it called their manhood into question, my father did help my mom. But he helped on the sly to avoid being teased by other less secure men. One year he was at the back door hanging up a dish towel on the line when a thin reedy voice piped from across the street. “Happy Mothers Day, Mr. Gravel!” Busted by young Billy Grahn! My father came into the house laughing and told us. Each year either my sibling or I (or both) call and say, “Happy Mothers Day, Mr Gravel!” And of course we all laugh.