Although I am almost 60 now, I can still clearly remember an evening in the Iowa wintertime when I was in my formative years.
I had come down with a nasty chest cold and was lying in bed, sniffling and coughing and feeling sorry for myself. Mother came into my room, as she had done many times before when I was sick, carrying a tray containing a bottle of thick black cough syrup, a huge jar of Vicks Vaporub, a jar of her Ponds cold cream, a tablespoon, and a stack of flannel cloth rags with safety pins on top.
I didn’t want any part of that treatment that night and told her so. Well, she was surprised to hear me talk like that, but said that I was sick, and the Vicks would make me feel better. I had never really talked back to my Mother before, but that night I foolishly decided to really rebel.