Bring in the Red Cross
Woman About Town
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There is a member of the family that I have unintentionally failed to acknowledge in the past. This oversight is in no way a reflection of the influence or unyielding commitment this individual has shown toward the development and well-being of my children. For this I am eternally grateful, which is why I reached out and brushed the top of this stuffed animal’s head, the prized plush companion of all three of my children since my oldest child’s birth. As I petted it, one of the long floppy ears dropped from its dilapidated head to the ground.
“Oh, no!” My daughter screamed in horror, and then remembering her most recent Sunday school lesson, she surmised, “Spotty-Fluff has the leprosy!”
My younger son must have heard our conversation all the way from the kitchen because he rounded the corner into her bedroom bearing disinfectant wipes.
Though I tried convincing her otherwise, she was afraid of its contagion and kept it alone at a safe distance, quarantined in the corner of her room, even after I had mended its ear.
“I wonder where she gets that from?” said my husband with a smirk, arriving home later that evening from work.
“You are missing the most important part of this picture,” I inform him with a mother’s pride.
“And what might that be?” He asked with curiosity.
“That we have two future medical professionals on our hands that may one day save the world from Super Bugs.”
My husband glanced over at our gifted children and with a smile asked, “Then why is our son wearing the face mask over his eyes?”
I looked over in disbelief and caught my son walking straight into the wall, the mask obstructing his vision.
“You’re not supposed to wear that thing over your eyes!” I said.
“But I don’t want my eyes to get the leprosy,” he shared loudly as if we couldn’t hear him. “I could go blind!” he said, not quite facing us.
“That makes perfect sense,” said my husband putting his hands on his hips. “And if you ever do get leprosy of the eye,” he added, “you will definitely know where the wall is.”
“Exactly,” he said to us now completely in profile, obviously discombobulated by the mask that was blindfolding him.
As I watched him talk, I whispered to my husband, “I think he gets his nose from your side of the family.”
My son continued to rant on as my husband whispered back, “...and everything else from your side.”
“Very funny!” I said a little too loudly.
My son turned his blindfolded head sharply towards my voice. Pinpointing our accurate location, he rotated toward us and continued his explanation without further interruption.
Just then my daughter entered the room with a mask also over her eyes. In her out-stretched hands was Spotty-Fluff. She cautiously made her way forward.
“Daddy?” She called to him.
My husband hurried over and picked her up. He slowly raised the mask to the top of her head, as she hugged him tightly.
“I don’t think I could be a doctor,” she admitted, “because I don’t like the dark.”
I could no longer with clear conscience neglect an introduction of Spotty-Fluff. And though his affliction was potentially debilitating, it was love that brought him through. Even my husband agreed to him being seated next to my daughter at the dinner table that evening. My oldest son took a snapshot of his sister holding their dear friend while his younger brother smiled next to them with the face mask still over his eyes. That one is sure to make it into the family album.
