Reflections

Sometimes stuff happens, and it feels like an earlier memory is being replayed, except that I've shifted roles and turned into one of my parents, and D or A has turned into me. Like one of those training things that policemen do, when one of them has to be the criminal, and be interrogated, and then they change over.

Sometimes these are painful. Only because I think of what I put my parents through, but I guess they are getting a kind of payback now.

When I was little (let's say 5, I don't remember), I used to like doing the washing up. This involved standing on a chair, and pouring water into and out of things in the sink. I wasn't allowed to do it very often. When I got older (let's say 10, for the sake of argument), I didn't like doing the washing up. My parents would ask me, and I'd moan (and I'd imagine that I only did it rarely). Once I asked them: "When I was younger, I liked doing the washing up, and you didn't let me. Now I don't, and you won't let me."

They replied (words to the effect of): "That's because you were toss useless at it when you were younger."

[Sometimes I wonder if that episode in my life is why, when I first had my own unfurnished house, the first thing I bought, and I mean the first thing, before I bought a TV or a fridge or a cooker, on the day I moved in, was a dishwasher.]

Today, A asked if he could wash the plates. I said he could - there were a few in the sink, and having a bit of water sloshed over them before they went into the dishwasher wouldn't hurt. I was reminded of the episode much earlier in my life, when he picked up the washing up liquid bottle (which was only half full) and emptied it onto the counter.