My son has chicken pox, and we can’t figure out where he got them. We are responsible parents. We made them get anti-pox shots, but they’re only 70-90% effective. But I couldn’t help feel guilty when I told his kindergarten teacher, and she said she would ciruclate a note (without our names, but of course everyone will know).
I feel like the guy who tipped over the first domino by accident.
I want to point to someone else… “He got them from Joey. Or little Suzie.” But we’ve got nothing. No scapegoat. No diversionary tactic. Just us.
He went to the jump house (inflatable jumping games for kids, for all you oldsters whose kids are half way to social security). He went to karate class. Wherever two or three kids are gathered, there is a festering cesspool of microbes in their midst. He had to get them from somewhere. My family didn’t invent the chicken pox germ. But, when I fessed up to his teacher, the other grown ups snapped their heads in my direction like I’d just sat on a whoopie cushion.
Yes, it’s a very mild case. Yes, he feels almost fine. And yes, he’s pretty much over it in two measly days. But I still feel culpable.
We’re not those people. We don’t start plagues. Or poxes. We land comfortably in the middle of the epidemic, not at its inception. Still, I can’t help feeling a little guilty. May a pox NOT be on your house.
UPDATE: I’ve added two more Profiles to the Inner Mess website... so now you can find your Control Freak, Inner Critic, and Inner Brat. Plus, I’ve added a simpler black and white edition to make it easier to print.