On obfuscation and isolation

Covid visited the Bone home last week.  Mrs. Bone tested positive on Tuesday morning and, Alabama being a community property state, she was legally required to share the virus with me.

I have no idea what variant we are on now -- omicron, epsilon, kappa kappa lambda -- but it felt like we pledged to a bad sorority.  And no, not the one that takes in the unpopular girls who couldn't get into any of the others.  And why did I go with sorority there rather than fraternity?

Anyhow, in our all-inclusive Greek-letter organization, we wear masks, compare the shades of our throatal mucous, and sleep eighteen hours a day.

I slept much of Wednesday and Thursday.  Felt a lot better Friday.  Then was afflicted with a migraine Saturday morning.  So a couple more hours of sleep.

Fortunately, the kids have been able to avoid it.  Though there's no telling what they may bring home next week from the Petri dish we call an elementary school.

This ordeal has brought to mind the uncertainty of the early days of Covid.  I suppose all times are uncertain but those seemed especially so.

Oh, we were so young and green to the ways of novel viruses and mortiferous pandemics.  It truly was a simpler time, before Moderna, N95, and Dr. Fauci entered the daily vernacular.

I was still working at the 911 Center at the time.  In hindsight, I think that was a good thing.  Getting to maintain some sense of normalcy by going into work every night.  And let me tell you, traffic was a delight.  Best part of the pandemic, by far.

Mrs. Bone and I got vaccinated, then boosted.  It seemed like a no-brainer.  People were dying.  Dad was in the hospital for a week.  My best friend's father died without a funeral.

It was tougher when it came to the kids.  It always is.  You live with the decisions you make for yourself.  It's a whole other world when it comes to making decisions that will affect someone else's life.  Decisions they are unable to make for themselves.

Luke was four and had asthma.  Harper was two.

Fortunately by then, the pandemic had been fully politicized.  Experts seemed to sprout up by the minute so, naturally, 100% complete and accurate information spread like kudzu.

I had thoughts of writing a book.  The title would be "Parenting in the Time of Covid."  I quickly realized the title would likely be, by far, the best part, and just like that, the book idea was off the table.

I think about how my grandparents or great-grandparents might have handled a thing such as Covid.  Probably would have just done whatever the doctor said, if they even went to the doctor.  Or perhaps a good old-fashioned blood-letting.

And I wonder about the things my children will face.  How will they know what to believe, what is real, what is truth?

For while there is a mind-boggling amount of information literally at my fingertips every second of every day, I can only imagine there is exponentially more misinformation.  You can find someone somewhere to agree with any bit of ludicrousness you might come up with.  A website or YouTube channel dedicated to any of a thousand conspiracy theories you might fancy.

Luke recently asked me why people fought wars and I reckon I had no good answer to give.  But I did think of this song.

Maybe it's not all about always knowing or finding the answers.  Maybe part of the answer is to never stop questioning.

Of course, what do I know?  I'm just a bumpkin who believes he lives on a round planet and that this whole climate change thing might not be a hoax after all.