Scars, we all have them. I have more than I could ever count and many I probably do not even know exist. One I will never forget is small and round. It sits on the inside of my right arm and has been with me since Third Grade.

I can remember waking one December morning and having what seemed to be a small scab there. I showed it to my parents asking them what it was. They must have had some idea because they took me to the school nurse right away who confirmed that it was chicken pox. This was, of course, back when children had to actually have the illness sometime while growing up. Now we can vaccinate them for what used to be a standard childhood disease.

I was devastated. I had to miss the school Christmas program. I was to be the most adorable dancing mouse anyone had ever seen. I had been practicing so hard and knew all of the steps by heart. I was, of course, a much better dancer than any of the other mice. As sad as I was to not dance before all of my peers and their parents, I got off easier than I thought.

I had several lesions here and there. Aside from missing the program, this was really just an itchy vacation from school. Chicken pox; however, is contagious. My younger sister also came down with it that Christmas. She was not so lucky in the lesion department. The poor thing was simply covered. They were everywhere. She was too miserable to even enjoy opening the same presents on Christmas morning that we had been eying together since Thanksgiving.

She too has small, round scars, far more than my one. Realizing that I am, at least in some way, responsible for them causes me to wonder what other scars she is carrying that I passed on to her? To how many others have I passed my contagious inflictions leaving them far more scarred than I? Scarred with marks no one can see.

The idea of passing on those invisible blemishes is a harrowing thought. The cuts that create scars of the soul are much deeper than any slice of the skin. They take much longer to heal, assuming they do heal, and the pain of the initial contact is never forgotten.

My daughter has been vaccinated against all of what used to be the typical childhood diseases measles, mumps, rubella and now chicken pox.

Unfortunately, that is where the protection ends. For the invisible scars I may pass on there is no vaccination. I cannot easily protect my daughter or anyone else from the emotional scars I will inevitably pass on.

My hope is that my awareness will serve as a vaccination of sorts and that I will be more careful and gentle with those around me. We are all contagious. Everything that happens to us we pass on to others in our lives. Some will be immune, some will come down with a little bug and then be fine, but some will be scarred. They will carry that invisible scar for as long as they live and, just like my small, round, chicken pox scar, they will remember how it came to be.

Learn more about this author, Colleen Lafferty.
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