Whack!
I still remember my dad’s swift hand on the rear that afternoon when, looking neither left nor right, I darted headlong into traffic. He held me back, inches from the blue Ford rushing by my aunt’s house.
The whack stung. I cried. Got lectured. But got it. He was just trying to keep me safe.
Life was simpler then, ruled by absolute no’s and reliable treats. There was 9 o’clock bedtime, gradually increased to 9:30 PM, homework before TV, and celebration drives to the Dairy Queen for a chocolate dip cone.
Later, when adolescence brought hormones and boyfriends, he would shake his head, commiserate, and say, “I wish I could still fix it with an ice cream cone.”
It seemed silly at the time. Now, with the pandemic resurging, I get it.
Nostalgia for simple set in when the CDC walked back privileges of the vaccinated and recommended masks again in public indoor spaces in areas of “high or substantial transmission.”
“What?” I cried. I’d just gotten over my astonishment that the guidelines had loosened, and already we were inching back.
I’d like to say that as the CDC bends and weaves, in response to this or that variant or piece of research, I can simply shift gears and adapt. But I am not that Buddha figure in my backyard that simply IS, no matter what. I fight these new pronouncements. I want the Whack back, and the 9 PM bedtime. Something I can count on. Even changes for the better have not been easy.
When COVID numbers were down and dining rooms and stores were recommending masks only for the unvaxxed, I started with a toe in the water. Just a handful of folks? Yay! No mask. But it was also hard. Mask-wearing had somehow become so much part of my identity that I wanted to substitute a henna tattoo or a hairbow that said “I’ve been vaxxed.”
Then a new groan. The kicker this time was that although “we the vaxxed “would probably not get real sick, we could pass it on and make others real sick. So back to stricter rules.
Oops. Did I just say “rules”? To be fair, “rule” is not the right word. Although some recommendations have inched toward becoming requirements – who knows where we’ll be by the time this piece runs – the run-out-in-the-street child in me prefers rules. That’s why I made a bargain with myself to go along with the CDC, fair weather or foul. So for me, each recommendation counts as a rule. Sort of.
Unfortunately, the guidance can’t be tailored to each situation, so in an attempt to “get the Whack back,” I’ve taken to writing my own FAQs.
For example, here is a recent real-life situation: What if a dozen fully vaccinated people have been invited to my house for a Moroccan dinner party that was postponed during 2020? I live in a high or substantial transmission area, and we are mostly old or could be in contact with people who are vulnerable even though we don’t know it? What is the safest way?
Rule: There are six possible scenarios, depending on guest comfort level and COVID numbers on the day of the party, Level Six being the safest.
Level One, set each person six feet apart except for couples who can sit closer, open all the windows, and run multiple air filters. Play Moroccan music and show a slide loop.
Level Two: Put everyone on the screen porch. To make up for lost indoor ambience, rent a camel to offer rides led by a qualified guide who, if not vaxxed, is at least wearing a mask.
Level Three:: Put everyone on the screen porch. Hire a belly dancer – need not be vaxxed if at least six feet away from the porch. Cancel the camel.
Level Four: Put everyone distanced in the yard. Make sure the belly dancer is six feet from the nearest table and if visiting tables, is wearing a mask.
Level Five: In case of Option Four, have a rain plan. Purchase carryout containers to package the food, but keep the receipt in case it’s sunny.
Level Six: Postpone again. Reward your prudence.. Eat ice cream. Try to keep it to one chocolate dip cone.
Copyright 2021 Pat Snyder
