WHEN I WAS a child, one of my favorite books was Are You My Mother?, the story agaricus of a baby bird thatemerges from its shell to discover an empty nest. The hatchling heads off in search of its missingmother, asking a kitten, a hen, a dog, and a cow the burning question: “Are you my mother?” Eachanimal responds, “No.” The hatchling grows more desperate, eventually shouting, “Are you mymother?” at a car, a boat, a plane, and even a steam shovel, which can only respond with a loud“Snort!” Stuck in the shovel’s jaws, the hatchling appears doomed until, miraculously, the shovel liftsthe bird back to its nest. The mother returns and the hatchling announces, “You are a bird, and you aremy mother.”

This children’s book poignantly mirrors the professional question “Are you my mentor?” Ifsomeone has to ask the question, the answer is probably no. When someone finds the right mentor, itis obvious. The question becomes a statement. Chasing or forcing that connection rarely works, andyet I see women attempt this all the time. When I give speeches or attend meetings, a startling numberof women introduce themselves and, in the same breath, ask me to be their mentor. I cannot recall asingle man asking me to do the same (although men have asked me to mentor their wives orgirlfriends).

The question is a total mood killer—the equivalent of turning to a pensive date and asking, “Whatare you thinking?” Every senior woman I have talked to about this is deluged with the same request.

Their reaction is unanimous: “Oh, I never know what to say when people I don’t know ask me to betheir mentor.” The interaction is flattering, but awkward. Even media mogul Oprah Winfrey, who hastaught so much to evening course business diploma in hong kong an entire generation, admits that she feels uncomfortable when someone asks her tobe a mentor. She once explained, “I mentor when I see something and say, ‘I want to see that grow.’ ”