....three birds in a nest
There are times in every school child's life that the normal routines associated with school are interrupted when the dreaded viruses make their rounds through the classes. My first experience as a child was over forty years ago. Mass sickness was unheard of to me. Being a father now, I see that it still exists. One small virus that can wipe a large portion of any school so very quickly. We all know that elementary schools are incubators for germs. Always have been, always will be. We knew nothing of washing hands after any and all contact, we were to busy chasing and wrestling each other, runny noses and all.
I was in the fourth grade at Rocky Ridge, in the second of our third homes in that particular community. I always called that the Kudzu home, with the hillside between the house and the road being completely covered in the fast growing vines. While many may complain about Kudzu, where you are eight, it is one of the greatest places to play. The affliction that hit us that year was the before then, unheard of, Pink Eye. I had no idea what it was. I am sure at that age I probably thought it was just something that would turn my eyes pink and make me look like a bunny rabbit or something.
By the second day, I remember my younger sister, Lorie, and younger brother, Keith, all having Pink Eye along with me. We were a family that shared all it seemed. Late that night my mother put us all in the same bed, probably in hopes of us all passing out at some point so that she could find some portion of sanity in that day. Three children, at home sick, are more than enough for any one person to bear.
I had never had Pink Eye before. I did not know what to expect, none of us did. I woke up the next morning, and panicked. I could not open my eyes. I reached up to feel my eyes and all I could feel were little knots of glue on my lashes, keeping me from opening my eyes. I started to cry; something was wrong, horribly wrong. At eight years old, interrupted routines can be frightening. With the three of us in the same bed, my sister and brother also woke up, and before to long, we were all crying, we were blind!
The best part was my mother. I don't know if she was scared or if she was laughing. All I remember was her taking a washcloth, held under warm water, and rubbing my eyes. She washed away all that was wrong. She took turns with each of us, calming us down, stopping the screaming, and stopping the crying. That warm, wet, cloth used to open my eyes, was one of those moments I have always remembered. Three little birds, all in a nest, needing their mom.
Posted at 07:49 pm by
AnotherMan
