Across the country, in the next few weeks, school children should be going back to classrooms and seeing friends and meeting teachers and preparing for a new school year. As we all know, 2020 is not playing by the same rules as other years and a lot of school systems are not opening for in school learning right away, if at all.
Where we live, nine weeks of remote learning will start the year, with an evaluation after that to see if in-person learning is feasible. Some states are doing reduced class size on staggered days and alternate weeks and odd and even hours and groups of students A-D, E-J, etc.
I have done the math and I understand it, with the schedule being the way it is in, say, New York, a child entering fifth grade on Sept. 1 will complete the grade somewhere within a month or two of their 39th birthday.
While this lends credence to the old “if I knew then what I know now” adage, I am not sure if parents are prepared to see an elementary school class of “kids” with five o’clock shadows, frosted hair, and suspiciously and inappropriate silicone placement. Perhaps at recess the children can play a fun game of “Get Off My Lawn” or “Pull My Finger.”
I am picturing a classroom with a confused teacher with a group of bitter and cynical adults who just want to finish the fifth grade but can’t remember when they actually started. All they know is Thomas The Tank Engine has been taken to the scrap yard, Harry Potter can’t remember any of his spells and Clifford The Big Red Dog is six feet under the hickory tree in the backyard.
If this all sounds a little cynical on my part, you don’t have to tell me. I already know it sounds cynical. I’m starting to sound a little cynical. What’s going on now has reached a level of such idiocy that no one really knows what’s going on. We are saying to each other “when this is over” with the same conviction that we say “when I hit the Lotto.” Eventually, someone is going to step up and say enough is enough and we are going to start going back to normal.
A doctor on television said the only way to avoid the coronavirus is to not only wear a mask, but goggles and ear protection as well. Now, wait a minute. I get wanting to be cautious, but I am not going to Walmart dressed for a trip to the moon. We’re not on the moon. Okay, it feels a little spacey sometimes, but I assure you this is not the moon.
A presidential candidate is now calling for a national mandatory mask mandate.
Well, um, no.
A lot of folks have had just about enough of politicians telling them what to do. A municipal government somewhere has made it mandatory for folks to wear masks during online meetings. Let me explain this so everyone in the cheap seats can hear it: It is mandatory for you to wear a mask while alone and on an online meeting. You are not around any other people. As far as I know, you cannot spread the coronavirus over the internet. There is a lot of stuff that can be spread online, but a lot of it comes from the southern end of a northbound bull.
Listen, folks, there is a virus out there. A lot of people have gotten sick, some quite badly. A large number of people have died. I do not want to make light of that. Hopefully, you can see the humor in this week’s column is not at the expense of the sick or the dead. All I am saying is we have gotten this far being responsible for ourselves.
We know ourselves. We know those around us. With all this knowledge, why are we letting strangers tell us what we can and cannot do? I’m tired of it. You’re tired of it. I’ll leave you with this: What’s the point in saving all our lives if we aren’t allowed to live?
Joe Weaver, a native of Baltimore, is a husband, father, pawnbroker and gun collector. From his home in New Bern, he writes on the lighter side of family life.
