On October 31st, I gave my nine-year-old Chattering a teaspoon of Sambucol Black Elderberry Immune System Syrup with his breakfast.

I didn’t think my son was getting a cold. Halloween was preoccupying me and, since my mind is often chattering, I thought it would be a smart to give my son’s immune system some support. You’d give your kid some standardized-test training before taking an SAT, right?

So I gave mine Sambucol ten hours before trick-or-treating.

“Mommy, I have a tummy ache,” my sweet one told me fifteen minutes later.

“Oh, it’s the orange juice, honey. Take it easy on that.”

“Mommy, I really don’t feel well,” he groaned in the car.

Oh Lord. I was getting that sinking feeling. Perhaps it was the Sambucol.

Ten minutes later, the dear boy threw up on his school’s second-floor staircase. The whole thing was just so distressing.

“Of all days!” lamented his teacher, festooned in a psychedelic wig and wild pumpkin earrings. “He’ll miss the Halloween party.”

Once home, with my confused son in tow, I walked straight to the bottle of Sambucol.

Oh! I had guessed it. How awful. There, on the Sambucol label, in fine print, was written the hateful word ZINC.

I REALLY DISLIKE THAT STUFF!

While many folks swear by the usefulness of zinc in supporting the immune system, especially when signs of a cold or flu are evident, I have had only negative experiences. Oft-listed side effects of zinc are nausea and gastrointestinal disturbances.

So thanks to my wise-woman preventative strategy, we happy Chatterings are vomiting all over ourselves.

When I called the toll-free number listed on the Sambucol bottle, a nice woman working for Nature’s Way, the mother ship, told me that kids cannot digest zinc well and that the company makes a zinc-free children’s version that I should buy next time. Upon hearing my whole story, she failed to say, “Oh, you must be totally bummed.”

I’ve just sampled a capful of Sambucol here at my desk. It’s nice, something like a sweet Italian bitters, best served with sparkling water and a lemon twist. Anybody want my bottle?

“Hey, Gordon,” I shouted up the stairs. “You’re not sick. Mommy is so so sorry. I’ll explain in the car.”

And off he went, back to school, wearing a retired pair of his older brother’s shoes since his own had been washed and were thumping in the clothes drier, along with some towels to soften the noise, so as not to upset our dog.