I remember some 40 and change years ago, standing in a long, long line with my Mom gripping my hand, determined that no matter how long it took, I would get my polio vaccination. We waited in that line in the sun and eventually made our way down the sidewalk and into the local middle school gym where there were tables set up and nurses and doctors giving out the vaccine. The whole time I was thinking about my Grand Aunt, Rosie, who wore leg braces and giant, oversize shoes with soles 3 inches thick. She walked with two canes back then. By the time she died, she was, of course, confined to a wheelchair. Mom had explained that now they had something so I would not have to get sick, like Aunt Rosie. How I wouldn’t have to wear braces or those awful shoes. Most of all, I remember how terribly scared she was when she talked about it. She didn’t realize it, but she didn’t have to hold my hand. I wasn’t about to leave that line. Not for anything. The next day I had sunburn. I didn’t care, because I knew I wouldn’t get sick. I’ve lived through the measles, the mumps, chicken pox, even scarlet fever. We had a family doctor back then, a nice old man named Doctor Ward; I never was told his first name. He used to come to the house with his little black bag. I often marvel at all the illnesses I had, and the fact that the children in my family will never have to suffer through them because they were vaccinated. I read these anti-vaccine stories with, well- astonishment. How soon we have forgotten. Forgotten the pain, the sickness, the crippling disability and most of all, the bone-chilling fear. These anti-vaccine types are just insane. Really.