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Every Life is a Story
    A place to share my own family stories

Wednesday, December 23, 2009

Chicken Pox

When I was in kindergarten, I couldn't wait for Christmas to come! I had gone to bed the night of Christmas Eve tense with the excitement of Santa's visit. I was sure that I wouldn't fall asleep, but of course I did.

I woke up very early before the sun was up, excited that it was Christmas morning, but not feeling very excited about getting out of bed. I forced myself up and woke up my little sister, then woke up my parents who grumbled about it being too early, but got up anyway. All of the relatives that had come to visit were awakened soon after. We went out to the living room, and there, just as I had hoped was a pile of presents under our tree! I should have been more excited, but somehow I just didn't feel as thrilled as I thought I would be.

I sat down on the couch, and my Father passed around presents. There were a lot for me, and I was happy, but not terribly enthusiastic. I was tired. My head hurt. Still, it was Christmas morning, and those presents were for me! I wasn't going to ruin things. I opened a few presents. I got great toys. Wonderful. The headache was getting worse. Finally, a stack of presents still waiting for me, I opened a book-shaped present. It was the story of Heidi complete with a read along record. The cover had a girl wearing a dirndle dress, and braid loops on either side of her head. I looked at the book, and burst into tears. I felt awful, and presents weren't fun.

Everyone rushed to my side wondering what was wrong. I had an awful fever, and a headache. Then my Mother saw the spot on my arm. A small red spot, right there above my wrist. By the time the sun had come up one spot had become eight. I don't remember the rest of the presents. I remember cool baths to get the fever down, and spending a lot of time in bed with orders not to scratch no matter what I did.

I got Chicken Pox on Christmas morning.

"To be a person
is to have a story to tell."

- Isak Dinesen  

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