Help

I am the only girl in a family of boys. I have no sisters, no female cousins. While I still find myself hoping for a girl every time a relative announces a new baby is on the way, I have accepted that the men in my family will outnumber the women for years to come.

Growing up, I wasn’t treated any differently than the boys. I was expected to do and did perform my share of manual labor chores. I mowed the grass, raked leaves, learned to chop wood for the wood burning stove that heated our old farmhouse. I helped my father whenever farm machinery needed to be fixed. Gender wasn’t an issue when it came to farm work. Whatever needed to be done was done. While I hated the work growing up, I am now proud of it and grateful for having to do it. It means I am self-sufficient. I am not afraid of hard work, a little sweat equity.

I was reminded of this yesterday when I woke up to discover six inches of fresh snow on the ground. One of the responsibilities of homeownership is cleaning up, and the snow meant it was time to get out the shovel. Compared to my parents’ farm, I have very little to shovel. Just the front porch, the sidewalks in front of and next to the house and the deck in the backyard. It should have been simple.

It started out simply. I had finished cleaning off the deck and was working on the front porch when the man walked up to me. He started showing up last winter after storms, offering to clean off my paths. I’ve always politely declined. The first winter I owned my home, no one showed up. Now, they show up in numbers. A sign of the recession.

I should have politely declined again, but my back was aching. I have back problems that I didn’t have while growing up on the farm. I hesitated and let the ache get to me. I told him he could finish, we agreed on a price and that was that. So I thought.

That afternoon, I decided to try my luck and venture out to buy food for the dog. I at least needed to clean the several inches of snow off my car, even if I didn’t leave the house. I bundled up, grabbed the car keys and went outside. I was a few minutes into sweeping the snow off the car when a neighbor approached.

The first thing I noticed about him was his lack of two front teeth. He was tall and thin and had a faint body odor. “Let me do that,” he said, trying to grab the ice scraper/brush tool out of my hand. I waved him away at first, but he wouldn’t go. I was tired, still aching. I gave up and handed it to him.

He cleaned off my car and then asked if I had a shovel. He was right; I would need to shovel around my car if I hoped to drive away without getting stuck. I opened the trunk and pulled out the travel shovel I keep there for emergencies.

While he was shoveling around the car, I noticed the long stretch of sidewalk that runs parallel to the street next to my house. It was untouched. The man I gave into that morning walked away with my hard earned money without finishing the job. I sighed, upset with myself for being taken advantage of.

I turned my attention back to the man with the missing front teeth and told him he was finished. I grew up on a farm. I could get out of that snow. The car is front wheel drive. I can do it.

I thanked him and got into the car. He motioned for me to roll down the window. Impatient, I cracked it. “How come you don’t have no man,” he asked me. I wasn’t interested in this conversation. I politely replied that I did. He asked where he was. I realized he wanted to be paid for “helping” me and thought keeping the conversation going would weaken my hold on my wallet. I thanked him again and drove away, shaking my head at the snow covered sidewalk that I would have to shovel despite paying someone to “help” me.

I thought about all the requests I’ve received in the past year to shovel my sidewalks and mow my lawn. None of these came from children. All were from grown men looking to make some money. When I bought my home, everyone kept telling me I would be overwhelmed with offers from kids to do these chores. In the two years since, not a single child has offered. It’s always been grown men, and I suspect many of them don’t even live in my neighborhood.

I have a tangle of thoughts and emotions now. I am angry and feel taken advantage of. I am tired of men trying to make a quick buck off me under the guise of “helping.” I feel guilty when I say no because I can afford to pay for the work. Not everyone has a job, especially in this economy. But then I feel like a fool when I think about the unfinished sidewalk that I will have to shovel anyway.

But mostly I feel sad. Neighbors don’t seem to help neighbors anymore. When I was growing up, we knew our neighbors and everyone looked out for each other. My father would plow open our long, snow packed driveway and then drive his tractor over to the house next door, drop his blade and clear their driveway without being asked—or expecting anything in return. I don’t even know most of my neighbors. Everyone keeps to themselves. A quick, polite hello is uttered on sight, but no one offers to help. I don’t consider the toothless neighbor forcing himself onto my car “help.” He thought he would guilt me into paying him. I’m not interested in that.

I am going to finish shoveling the snow today. I am going to think about my feelings some more before letting them go. And I am going to get back into the polite “no, thank you” mode whenever I feel someone trying to take advantage of me. I can do it—aching back and all.