Sitting in the colorful, warm office at school, I knew as soon as my dad walked through the school door I was going to get it.

It was around St. Patrick’s Day in 2001 when my younger brother, Trey, was struck with the chicken pox. Trey was covered with little red dots that made him scratch furiously. I wanted the chicken pox, too. Trey relaxed at home, watch numerous amounts of T.V., and ate three square meals in bed. I never understood the consequences of having the chicken pox. But, I would soon learn my lesson. As the day lingered on and it was time for bed, I had an itching sensation all over my body. This feeling was like no other. I tried to ignore the itch and fell fast asleep. The next morning I realized the consequences of having the chicken pox.

I told my dad about what happened last night. My dad examined me and concluded that I had the chicken pox, too. As soon as he announced my diagnosis, I could feel the pox growing on my skin revealing its ugly, red, scabby head on my body. I was so ecstatic that I caught the chicken pox. In the back of my mind, behind all the excitement, I was worried. I heard of some cases where people and children died from having the chicken pox. I didn’t want that to be me.
Suddenly my heart sank when my dad roared,” Khiana, you are going to school!”
I didn’t want to go to school! My case wasn’t that bad, but I was still contagious. I wanted to stay home like Trey and do the same things he did. Luckily, Grandma was there to save the day. A few seconds later, I hear a thunderstorm of arguing down the long corridor.
“Craig, you cannot I mean cannot send Khiana to school like that!” Grandma yelled.
“Momma, leave me alone! This is my child, and I’m sending her school!” Exclaimed Dad.
My dad didn’t listen; he continued to get me dressed for school.
When I was riding in the car, my dad looked at me and said to me,” Khiana don’t tell anybody that you have the chicken pox I’ll be back for you in an hour, ok?”
I nodded my head in approval, and my dad kissed me on the forehead reminding me about what he said. Then I stepped out of the car and walked into school.
My teacher Mrs. Harlow wasn’t there, so we had a substitute. Excited about the day, I made the worst mistake I could possibly make. I opened my big mouth and whispered to my friends.
“I’m leaving school early, because I have the chicken pox!” I whispered.
As soon as I said that, I just wanted to eat my words because I knew those same words can get me in a world of trouble. When my circle of friends started to crumble, I noticed the teacher’s eyes starring right through me. I was now by myself in the second row of the classroom. My friends have now disappeared. When I slowly, turned to the back of the class, I noticed the teacher had a halo of students standing around her. The other students whispering and panicking, they wanted to know what was going on. The teacher crawled to my desk. With every footstep, I felt my heart sink to my feet along with the itch of the pox. She stood over my desk, like a shadow growing as the sun rose higher in the sky. The teacher gently took me by my hand escorted me to nurse’s office.
“Khiana, you are not in trouble, I just don’t want you getting the other children sick.” whispered the substitute teacher.
When I arrived in the at the nurse’s office, I waited for the nurse. This room was grey; there wasn’t any color to eliminate the room. I sat on the long, rectangular, metal bench. The cold metal from the bench took away the powerful itch sensation. I thought to myself, maybe my dad was wrong about my diagnosis. What if I don’t have the chicken pox and this is just a misunderstanding? As the nurse walked in, she smiled and began to examine me. I stood on the white tile while she held up my arm in search for the pox. From the arm, she examined my back. Suddenly, the nurse stopped her examination and stormed out of the office. I was worried because I knew that wasn’t a good sign. I sat back on the cold bench and I waited for the verdict. Thirty minutes passed, and the nurse walked in with a displeased look on her face.
“Khiana, you have to chicken pox. We have called your dad and notified him of your condition,” said the nurse.
I wasn’t even at school for an hour, yet, and I know I caused a world of drama.
I thought to myself, “When my dad gets me home, I’m going to get a whooping of a lifetime!”
I could hear my dad’s deep voice roaring when he conversed with the nurse. However, for some odd reason he was not mad. He questioned me when we got in the car.
“Khiana did you tell anybody that you had the chicken pox?” asked my dad.
I was so scared to answer that question. There was only thing I can do: I lied. I guess it worked because my dad bought it.
When my dad crept in the driveway, I knew I could relax and do other things. I walked inside, and there waiting for me was an oatmeal bath. The look was disgusting. The mixture of the yellow paint and oatmeal clumps was repulsive. My dad said it was a remedy used long ago. I did not want to take a bath in brown water. The bath water does not even smell like the apple cinnamon oatmeal that comes out of the packet. As my grandma helped me take a bath, I could feel the oatmeal clinging to my skin leaving white, blotchy marks on my body. Taking a bath in oatmeal was horrible. The medicine was horrible, too. I had to go to the doctor to get and shot. Then I was prescribed a nasty medicine that was green, and taste like robotussin. The taste made me gag. Even though I had the chance to stay home from school, it was not like anything like I ever imagined. There was nothing on TV, I could not sleep, and I did not want to eat soup all day, either. I was relieved to go back to school.
I learned my lesson that year. Having the chicken pox isn’t fun. Many doctor visits, nasty medicine, and home-style remedies aren’t worth it. In the end, being healthy is better than sick!