“We had a skin crisis this morning with Annie.”

That was my dad’s announcement the other day as we sat around the table having lunch.

Annie had taken an eraser and marked her forehead with it.
“Then she thought she was going to die.”
Tearfully, Annie turned to me and asked, “Am I going to die?”
“Guess we’ll find out by morning,” I teased her.  (I know, there goes my Mother of the Year award–again.)
Katie explained that our next door neighbor said that kids in her fifth grade class were marking themselves with erasers, to the point of leaving burn marks.
“She said that someone told them that you could die from that.  And a boy started crying because he’d marked himself up a lot.”
We all started laughing (except for Annie).
“Am I going to die?” she asked again.
“No, you won’t die.  You can’t even see the mark on your head anymore,” I tried to reassure her.
“I guess the only way you could die from using an eraser on your skin is if you rubbed your skin raw and it became seriously infected, then you could possibly die from the infection,” I added.
It didn’t really help. 
But at least Annie probably won’t be sporting any more eraser marks.
The funny thing is that I remember this “eraser fad” back in fifth grade too.  Many of my classmates proudly wore eraser marks on their skin like tattoos.  
Self-infliction–always in style, apparently.

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