One evening last summer, when I asked my 17-year-old son, Ray, for help with dinner, his response surprised me, "What's a colander  ?" he asked. I could only blame myself. Nobody's hands went in the sauce except my own. But that night, as I explained with a touch of panic that a colander is the thing with holes in it, I wondered what else I hadn't prepared Ray for. As parents, while we focus on our child's confidence and character, we perhaps don't always consider that we are also raising someone's future roommate, boyfriend, husband, or father. I wanted to know that I'd raised a boy who would never ask the woman in his life, "What's for dinner?" So I came up with a plan: I would offer Ray a private home economics course. I was delighted to find that he didn't say no. For two hours, three days a week, Ray was all mine. One day, as his tomato sauce reduced on the stove, he washed and seasoned a chicken for roasting. Then he rolled out the piecrust   and filled it with apples, all while listening to my explanation on the importance of preheating an oven. I knew that he would rather have been shooting hoops I the driveway than learning to mend socks with his mother -- he tried to beg off sewing lessons, even though I insisted that one day, someone would find the sight of him fixing his own shirt very attractive -- but it couldn't be denied that he was learning, and _ . "I appreciate more what you do as a mom," he told me one day. Ray now understands the finer points of cooking, and more important, he realizes there's nothing masculine   about being helpless. Not only can he make his own dinner, he can make it for his family, too. That's what I call a man. Hearing her son's question, the author felt   _  .
shocked angry disappointed calm