When I was a kid, anti-vaxers didn't exist. Which is exactly as you'd expect from a generation of parents who, as children, were gratefully delivered from the specter of polio by miraculous advances in modern medicine. Not that my parents wouldn't have pimped us out for cosmetics testing if that were an option.
I remember me and my brother staying home from school, both of us wearing mittens duct taped to our pajama sleeves to keep us from scratching our itchy, oozing pox shedding billions of chicken viruses.
I was supposed to be with the rest of my second grade class which was enjoying a field trip. I don't remember exactly where the class was going; space camp or fire station pole sliding or zebra-back riding or something awesome like that. All I remember is that I'd been looking forward to that field trip since getting the permission slip signed. Instead I was locked up in quarantine with my stupid kid brother. Of course I blamed him for missing my field trip. Dick.
Today as I write this, I'm home in bed with a 101º fever. I'm not supposed to be here. I'm supposed to be at the airport standing by for a seat to Denver to visit StevieB for the weekend. We'd been planning this trip for weeks. I even had my permission slip signed.