Whipping Boy

Of all the concepts in child-rearing, surely that of "whipping boy" is one of the strangest. A royal prince, at some point in history, could not be punished. So when he misbehaved, another child received the punishment he deserved. The prince - or so I've heard - had to stand by and watch the punishment meted out to the other youngster... And learn from that...

(I wonder what he learned!)

I have been feeling a little sorry for myself... and for some reason the image of a whipping boy has popped into my mind.

As my mother struggles against the recommendations made by staff at the Geriatric Day Hospital - none of them (in my mind) worth arguing about: continuing the weekly (assisted) bath and installing a hand-held shower in her bathtub... she is furious. Every time I visit her, she brings it up.

I don't need any of that! she shouts at me.

I'm only telling you what the nurses say you need, I reply, wondering why they can't tell her themselves. (Or perhaps they have mentioned it and she hasn't listened...hasn't heard.)

Sometimes we have to make changes, Terry interjects. After all, don't you always say: Life is a constant change.

But change is becoming harder and harder for her...

Sometimes I feel like throwing up my hands and letting her do it her way, I confided to my brother when he visited recently.

He looked horrified. You can't do that, he replied.

So here I am - feeling dumped on - feeling like a "whipping boy" (which really should be "whipped" boy)... the recipient of the anger she is venting at the unwanted changes life is bringing her these days...

I may not be the only one she vents at - I suspect she directs her anger at the nursing staff at her residence as well...

It's hard not to take it personally when I'm the "whipping boy" of the "prince" known as Father Time...