If I were a member of the Justice League, my superpower would be rendering those around me helpless.

This power seems to affect only the male members of the family, by the way.

The Boy — newly 23 and proudly living on his own without parental support — phoned the other day to ask how to make a medical appointment. (He could call his mother but not the doctor’s office, apparently.) Then my husband, thrusting some documents my way, claimed he was befuddled by having to write a check to cover a parking ticket. (Funny, he didn’t have any trouble paying his monthly golf club dues.)

Yes, it’s true that for all my son’s life I have overseen the family’s medical and dental welfare, making sure everyone was properly vaccinated and scheduling checkups on a regular basis. And, yes, I’ve always written the checks to pay the bills. But, people. Really?

These are only the latest instances in which I have been called on to handle routine matters such as filling out forms, checking store hours or calling in prescriptions — matters any competent adult should be able to tackle on their own without supervision or instruction.

After three decades together as a family unit, it’s finally got me wondering: Am I an enabler? Am I guilty of being not just a helicopter parent, but a helicopter spouse? Has my take-charge, get-’er-done approach to life sapped the initiative out of my loved ones and conditioned them to shirk basic responsibilities?

Or maybe they just gave up because I’m too impatient or too critical when they do try to do things on their own.

I hope I’m not that person. But I think I might be.

I want to be more like the woman whose husband I recently overheard querying a salesclerk at Target: “Excuse me, do you have mandoline slicers? My wife told me to buy one, and I have no idea what that is.”

I wish I had the confidence to send my husband on a domestic quest and expect that he would be able to figure it out, seeking help from strangers if necessary. (I once asked for a Crock-Pot for Christmas and got an electric skillet instead. Not that it wasn’t a perfectly fine electric skillet, but as a result I now do all the gift buying for myself. See?!?)

Or maybe I’m the one who’s been conditioned, and it’s been a man-scam all along.

Consider: Husband puts red shirt in with the light-colored wash.

My reaction: “Just let me do it. I’ll handle the laundry from now on.”

Consider: Boy announces he’s hungry and opens the fridge. Despite my grocery run earlier in the day, he mopes away empty-handed, saying he’s not hungry anymore.

My reaction: “Hold on, sweetie, I’ll make you something.”

(Apparently my superpowers include inducing refrigerator blindness — that is, the inability to see food that is in front of you unless is it assembled in its finished state, like a sandwich.)

And do I fall for it?

Every time.

“She Speaks” is a weekly column by the women writers of the Honolulu Star-Advertiser. Reach Christie Wilson at cwilson@staradvertiser.com.