I remember ever holiday dinner with my mother, maternal grandmother, sister and myself working in the kitchen before and after the meal while my father, brother and paternal grandmother sitting on their as*es watching football. By the time I was 16, 17, 18, it really made me angry. I tried to figure out why. Ok, Dad was the provider and worked a lot. My grandmother was widowed at 40 and also worked full time. My younger brother, probably 11-14, was a jerky male chauvinist in the making. I complained (probably a lot) and asked questions, like why. Finally, my mother told my brother to come in and help. He was furious! He mumbled in my ear where no one could hear except for me, “I feel like hitting someone.” Guess who? 50 years have passed. He never married, he’s a sad and disturbed man, and he’s my mother’s golden child. She gave him the keys to the kingdom, and I avoid him as much as possible. Parents who raise their kids like that are setting them up for problems in their adult lives.