Rites of Passage: Chicken Pox

As a child I held this intense belief that there were certain things (usually painful) that you had to go through to truly experience life and make the most out of growing up.

　
If these things didn't happen to you, you were missing out. I failed to understand what traditional rites of passage really were; I always overlooked the big stuff in favor of the things that most people would probably classify as unfortunate ailments or accidents.

A Real Rite of Passage: First Holy Communion　

Making communion was okay, but I definitely did not see it as a rite of passage. Mostly it was good because I got to be a bride for a day.

I was excited to wear a sparkly tiara and a veil, but I didn't really grasp the concept of what I was doing. My parents felt it was important that I make communion and when you're eight-years-old there aren't a lot of things you are in control of. So make communion I did.

Imagine my surprise when I discovered that the similarities to being a bride ended with the outfit. No party music, no throwing the bouquet, no cake. Definitely no cake. A wafer. A tasteless wafer that stuck to the roof of my mouth and refused to let go.

Not a Real Rite of Passage: Pox (Chicken, not Small)

Side Note: Getting Small Pox is not a rite of passage either.

 My younger sister was five when she contracted chicken pox from one of the many germ-riddled kids in her kindergarten class and I couldn't have been more pissed about it.

Who did she think she was? I'd been waiting for chicken pox my whole life, and here she was, first year of school and already covered in the pox. Some kids got all the luck.

I thought for sure that just being around Sam's disease would seal my fate. But when day three rolled around and nary a pock had claimed its place on my ten-year-old body, I knew I had to take matters into my own hands. I needed pock juice, and there was only one way I could think to get it:　

Now, this obviously wasn't going to happen without a lot of planning and skill. My sister wasn't just going to let me lick her face and share her chicken pox. No, if I wanted to claim this milestone for my own, I would need to be stealthy.

I imagined the different ways I could lick Sam's face without actually getting her permission.

These ideas were definitely stealthy, but I needed to be practical and face the facts - I didn't have a box.

So I began drafting the plans for the suspension harness I would use to descend from the ceiling of my sister's bedroom.

It was increasingly evident with each passing hour that this undertaking called for more knowledge and materials than I had at my disposal.

Multiple problems plagued me. I weighed too much to glide down from the ceiling on the butcher's twine that I had commandeered from my father's toolbox. Add to that the fact that I could not find my snorkel anywhere, and it was game over.

Defeated, I wandered over to the play room where I could see Sam, her chicken pox shimmering in the light. They taunted me with a message that said loud and clear: "This is all part of growing up. You wouldn't understand, asshole."

I was out of options. I watched as Sam pulled the rubber plug from the bottom of her piggy bank and emptied the coins onto the carpet. That's when the light bulb went off in my head.

Maybe I wasn't out of options after all. It was crazy, but it just might be crazy enough to work. Could I really get away with it? I wasn't confident, but I knew if I didn't try, I would never get what I wanted.

SUCCESS!!

In the end I finally caught the chicken pox, and it only cost me one dollar to do it.