The Globe and Mail

Prior to having a school-age child, I was largely left alone. I was raising my daughter. When she headed off to full-time school, however, people began to have questions. What was I going to “do?” And I guess I can't blame them, because in this postal code, generally speaking, any full-bodied individual of average intelligence does hold down some kind of job. In this day and age both parties work. That's how it is.

I was an anomaly.

Nobody asked straight out why I didn't work. Instead, they sniffed around this mystery. Did I work from home? No. Was I going to go back to school? No. Was I independently wealthy? Had I won the lottery? Did I have hydroponics growing in my basement? Nope. Nope. Nope.

Of course, my close friends and family knew of my situation. They didn't need to ask any of these questions. They knew I had been a high-school teacher and that I was now on full medical leave. Others, however, couldn't seem to wrap their heads around the fact that I didn't toil away at some job. Generally, people knew that my husband was also a teacher, but that didn't seem to be enough. That fact didn't stop these same individuals from wondering what I was up to.

I assumed I was pegged as the “stay at home mom.” Problem was my kid wasn't at home with me. Naturally I was asked to volunteer. Did I want to bake cookies for the fair? Gosh, I'm sorry. Don't really bake. Did I want to help run the youth group on Sunday nights? Gee, did you say Sunday? That's not going to work for me. Did I want to be the treasurer for the soccer team? No can do, my friends. Very bad with money. Did I want to help with the spring dance? Meals on wheels? Decorate the gym for the carnival? Help with Santa's breakfast? Sorry. Bad dancer. Terrible driver. Even worse interior decorator. Don't believe in Santa.

Someone asked if I might want to be on the parent advisory council at school. I considered it for a brief moment. No, I can't. Literally. There is some glorious rule that stipulates teachers, including non-active members, cannot participate on these committees!

On more than one occasion I was asked to help with hot-dog day. This involves boiling 1,000 wieners in a massive vat, preparing said wieners according to the preferences of discerning young customers, delivering these meals in a timely manner, and, of course, cleaning up the mess at the end of the rewarding day. I gratefully declined, and not just once or twice.

I recall the quizzical look that came over the woman's face that last time I was offered the chance to volunteer for this endeavour. She worked full-time and had helped out for years on this successful fundraiser. The school needed more mothers to step up to the plate. I could see that. Furthermore, I did appreciate what this handful of women did for our kids, but I also wished they would ask some of the dads to give their precious time to this community. And I wished they would stop hounding me.

If I'm tired, I rest. If I have blurred vision, I close my eyes

When I finally said “No thank you” again, for the fourth time, and added that “I would sooner poke out my eyes,” I really think I drove the point home. Nobody has since asked me to volunteer for a single thing!