Shots

Now that I am old enough to run in the backyard and play with other children, my family is taking me for a physical exam.
Eloisa, my mother, comes along. We are asked to wait in a bare office smelling of bleach. A young woman forces us to step on a rubber esplanade and checks our weight. shortly after, a brown chubby man with crooked fingers call us in. My mother climbs on the table and endures the exam. She doesn't say a word, no complains. I grind my teeth witnessing the senseless abuse, while the same man sticks her skin with 3 or 4 needles.
When is my turn, you can only tell by my dilated pupils what I am planning to do. He gives me a dismissive look,
"He is skinny for his height"
I stay still until the miniature spears perforate my back between the shoulders; try to jump, turn my face against the oppressor, my mouth wide open as if I were to eat him alive. He is surprised, but being so young doesn't take me seriously . Put one hand on my neck and gives the shots with the other.
Back at the front office. J. and E. seem relieved. The young woman puts a stamp in a paper (what they called a certificate) and hands it to them. It appears to be important, some kind of accomplishment. So much so, that we receive treats back home. But when I ask my mother the meaning of the ceremony she shrugs and say,
" Don't ask, child, nothing makes a lot of sense around here"
Later she explains that the shots are not intended to be a punishment or a warning. It is an ordeal they put themselves through, particularly their children and it is done less often as the person grows up. For that reason Eloisa believes that it's a rite of passage.
I don't know yet that shots may have a different, ominous meaning for our race.