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with
It's been quite a while
since this part of Western
Ontario has had a local
person as its representative
on the council of the Ontario
College of Nurses, the
licencing body of the
province's nurses and
RNA's.
But right now a Seaforth
nurse, Joyce Doig, is one of
six nominees for three seats
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Sugar and spice
on the council that represent
nurses in District 1, the
counties of Huron, Perth,
Elgin, Essex, Kent,
Lambton and Middlesex.
Ballots have been sent to
registered nurses all through
the area and are to be
returned to the College of
Nurses by June 1.
Mrs. Doig, who's a
graduate of Seaforth District
High School and of
Metropolitan General
Hospital in Windsor in 1968,
hasa nursed at Clinton Public
Hospital for the past four
years. Before that she was a
nurse at Seaforth Community
Hospital. She has a diplom
in hospital infection control
from the University of
Ottawa.
"Hospitals are having a
tough time right now.
There's a lot of pressure on
health people and we all
need to pull together," Mrs.
Doig says. Cutbacks and bed
closings have a huge impact
on a small hospital and the
total community that's hard
for city people to understand,
she added.
While she favours
compulsory continuing
education for nurses - "
people deserve the best they
can get for health care
dollars" - Mrs. Doig says
questions need to be asked
about how nurses in more
isolated areas of the province
are going to be able to take
updating courses. She does
not agree with a recent
College of Nursing proposal
that would remove
certification from nurses who
have not worked for a
number of years.
8 — THE BRUSSELS POST, MAY 9, 1979
Joyce Doig running for nurses' council
By Bill Smiley
(Continued from. Page 1)
And now it's the year of the kids, There
are series on child-battering in the papers,
articles about one-parent children, and
even child symposiums in which the little
turkeys are asked to comment on how their
parents should behave, what's wrong with
the world, what freedoms they should
have, and any other inane question a
smarmy, patronizing interviewer might
think up.
We are smothered by stuff from the
media about children: day-care centres,
inner city schools (slums), special edu-
cation, gifted children, obscene T-shirts for
kids. We are harassed and harangued by
priests who have never had a child and
social workers up to their ears in stale
psychiatry, and politicians who know that
kids can't vote, but grab the coat-tails of
any issue that receives media attention.
And what good is all this going to do the
kids? Not much. They'll go right on doing
what they've always 'done: dreaming,
fighting, playing; being the happy, morose
belligerent, shy, cruel, gentle, brilliant,
slow and utterly delightful little animals
they've always been.
In Canada they'll be overfed, over-
spoiled and over here. In Africa they'll be
over-starved, over-populated and over
there. And in both places they'll be
over-loved with that weird, irrational love
of children that prevails throughout the
world, civilized or uncivilized.
Oh, a few laws might be passed, and
many resolutions approved. But the
drunken mother or father who beats a child
will go on doing so. The ultra-permissive
parents will go on turning out monstrous
teenagers. The overprotective parents will
go on turning out still more monstrous
teenagers.
But the great mass of kids in this Year of
the Children will be much like every other
generation: curious, resentful of things
that they don't understand, ready to fight
to death for ideals, gradually conforming
and compromising to the realities of life,
and going on to become monstrous parents
themselves.
Now I don't speak from the seat of the
Old Philosopher, or any such hypocratic
elevation. I recently had a visit from my
Grandboys. I speak firsthand.
It was Easter weekend, and we're still
scraping chocolate off the woodwork and
picking up squashed jelly-beans and ripped
rabbits' ears.
But it was a great weekend. That
marvellous alchemist, Time, has wrough a
great change in them. They are becoming
personal friends, instead of sibling rivals.
The destruction was down about 800 per
cent. True, Nickov kicked a ball into a
collection of Doulton figurines, but nothing
was broken, I took the ball away, and he
didn't even have a tantrum.
But the TV is still working. A few
doorknobs are missing, but not all of them,
as on previous visits. They can eat without
bibs, though Balind did get about 80 grams
of relish and ketchup down his front when
mangling a hot dog.
However, he's only two and has a grin
that would disarm the devil. And he said
something that so shook me that I went
down in a faint, and my old lady had to pick
me up. I'd plunked a peanutbutter and
honey sandwich in front of him, and he
said, "Thank you Grandat," as casually as
though I were a waiter. I'd never heard
either of them say "Please" or "Thank
you" before.
They didn't sprinkle even one can of
powder, mixed with toothpaste, on the
hardwood floors. They didn't break a
single window. They didn't anoint the TV
with cold cream, They took off their muddy
boots when they came in, instead of
marching over the Indian rug.
And when I said, "Don't wreck my
typewriter," or something of the sort, they
didn't blurt, "...you,"; they said, "OK,
Grandat," or something of the sort.
Maybe this Year of the Children has
something going for it, a whole ,lot more
than Sixties Sulks or Women's Lib Nerve-
Wracking.
But when is the Year of the Man? I hope
I'm around long enough to enjoy it.