Family servitude

My father had always assumed he was a hearty standalone type but without his wife there to prop up his illusion of self reliance his world crumbled fast. This meant he required a full time nurse and carer, but this he couldn’t bring himself to admit. He forced them to wear formal service suits and attire and be referred to as butler. He burnt out a lot of them in the first few weeks but finally one of them stayed. Whether this was through ignorance or they enjoyed the antics we didn’t ask. We didn’t even discover their actual name, it was just butler. Who they were and what they did meant the same thing to us.
And dad loved having someone to be in charge of. He missed the old days when he used to be a hands on whip cracker on the production line floor at the factory. Loud clear orders barked directly at incompetence. That had all been phased out with HR and PR legislation running amok through business. You couldn’t tell someone what’s what without three to five lawyers and representatives of different gender and cultural backgrounds standing in between to mediate. Sugar coating words so they lose all meaning. The fun had left; he had to consciously avoid all unskilled labourers and was left upstairs sulking in the boardroom. Yelling there didn’t go down well either even though the HR found no issue with overpaid executives coping a blast for pure idiocy (HR despise anyone payed more than themselves and pity anyone who earns less). The problem arose from the fact that apparently the university types, thought themselves above being belittled in front of others. Quitting was their way out and a lot of them took it. Leaving him in a position of toothless tiger. All aggression without an outlet which depressed him greatly. These butlers were now copping 15 years of pent up frustration. He had tried to bring (let-out) his frustration home but was at least weary of the fact he knew mum was fiery and wouldn’t take to well to any nonsense. He would take it slow, ease into it. The first comment in she tore strips off him, he sulked away with his plan in tatters within minutes. Shortly after the fruitless exploit while wandering the grounds, the result of being thrown out of the house after his indiscretion, he came up upon the notion that us three children were important in the scheme of things. But only if we were really successful. This was going to be his legacy and he knew how to push hard. As his life settled into a nice routine of work and family life ours was degrading to a point where the former meant the latter. Every waking moment was now one long raucous explanation of how we were failing him and ourselves.
This suited me fine, as up until now I had been rambling through life without direction or forethought. Someone else planning it for me was perfect. Freedom from thoughts, where to aim and how to get there laid out before me like numbered stepping stones
My sister was not so welcoming of the regime change turning against our father and then against herself falling into quite a self destructive pattern. Booze and drugs weren’t her fault; it was the family taking care of turning her life into a chore as far as she was concerned.()
My brother survived it by discarding every piece of personality he had ever conjured. Bland was his coping mechanism working under the theory ‘if you don’t draw attention then you can’t be noticed’. It meant a slight distancing from the rest of the world but he had never really enjoyed the company of others when he was younger anyway.