Judy Singer
This is no “desperate housewives” tale of pre-feminist sexism. Both my parents worked, but my father had a triple day. He had to be mother and father to me, while I had to be mother to her. Meanwhile, she would delay dinner till 8 or 9pm, while she toyed with, say, cutting up one cucumber with mathematical precision, while we did all the rest. My mother was impervious to the feelings of others and had no capacity for self-reflection at all.