By Susan Knight
When I was a kid, I often looked at my mom’s vaccination scar on her upper right arm and wondered why it was so big.*
“Mine’s not that big,” my little self would say as I compared my arm to my mother’s.
A few days ago, since the weather is warming and short sleeves are more prevalent, I happened to glance in the mirror, and what did I see out of the corner of my eye?
“Holy cow,” my older self said as I stopped in my tracks. I did a double take in the mirror and saw my eyes widen as I spied my mother’s vaccination scar—on my arm.
I looked at myself then at the reflection of my arm, and realized it is in the same predicament as my widened gut and expanded butt.
“Sorry, mom,” I said as I stared at my arm. “All this time I thought my doctor was better precisioned than yours.”
Then I remembered . . . small town life . . . we had the same doctor.
*Those of you who are of my baby boomer generation, will know what I’m talking about.