Day 264

My son was supposed to compete in a tournament today. It wasn’t just any tournament. You had to qualify to participate. For him, it was a big deal. As you know, for months my son didn’t practice taekwondo because he hates Zoom. In September, I found him a school in New York that taught live classes. Once he started going, I saw a bit of happiness returning to his life. Then the school shut down. Covid, and lack of government relief for small businesses, killed the school. But my son had gotten a taste of what he had missed. That combined with a bit of bribery and I was able to get him to participate in the Zoom classes. However, my intention was to return to New Jersey so that he could resume live classes there in mid-November. It was important for him, for his mental health. He’s being homeschooled and has no interaction with anyone other than me. But since my spouse’s superintendent refused to consider the needs of the teachers, because she increased contact hours with students while the Covid numbers in New Jersey were increasing, my spouse  ended up testing positive for Covid the day before Thanksgiving.

Since we wanted to protect my son, I ended up having to take him back into exile. Not only couldn’t he continue taking live classes, he also had to miss his tournament. Even though the tournament is virtual, he needed to be able to compete in his school where there is space and the proper cameras. But because he had been in close contact with his mother, he lost that opportunity. His instructor reminded me that the beauty of Zoom is that he could find an open field and compete there. But it poured today. And it was cold. You can’t compete in the rain and the cold. And the rain would have destroyed my phone. So, while society thinks my spouse should be teaching in person to make sure the mental health of her students is a priority, my son’s mental health is suffering. All day, my son was cranky and miserable. I don’t blame him. He’s angry at his mother. It’s not her fault, but if she hadn’t tested positive, he’d have been able to do the one thing that makes him feel good about himself. 

In American, people pride themselves on the alleged rugged individualism that supposedly made this country great. Well, if you are such a rugged individualist, why do you need someone else babysitting your children? Parents are not going above and beyond to ensure that their kids aren’t exposed to the virus. In fact, they are acting, in many cases, as if it’s not a problem. They visited family during Thanksgiving. They allow their kids to hang out with friends. They don’t discourage them from playing contact sports. And then they expect teachers to happily show up to play the role of babysitter for free so that they can do what they want. If parents want the free babysitting service, they should be doing whatever it takes to make sure that their children are not going to infect their teachers. In fact, there should be consequences for parents who flout the advice of the CDC. Parents who permit their kids to do things that put them in contact with the virus and parents who send their kids to school knowing they are sick should be fined. Those fines should then be used to pay teachers a Covid bonus.

Since my son was depressed all day, I tried to keep him occupied playing games. We played Scrabble — he beat me — and Rummikub — we took turns winning. It was fun, but not nearly as exhilarating as competing in a tournament. After dinner, we watched Captain America. I’ve promised to watch all the Marvel movies with my son, and we are slowly working our way through them. 

Overall, this has been a bad week — the crappiest since Dad died. On Thursday, Mom fell. It was bad. She called me to tell me she had tripped on the cement in the back while doing yard work — work Dad used to do. Her face smashed into the metal fence. I asked her if she needed me to come home. She said no, but a few hours later, when I was at the beach sword fighting with my son, she called asking me to please come to Queens. In the morning, she wanted me to take her to the hospital. So we left the beach, we went back to the house, and I quickly packed. We got to Queens late, had dinner, and then my son and I logged into our Zoom taekwondo class.

In the morning, I got up early so that my son and I could get a jump on the school day. We worked for an hour, I assigned him some work, and then I drove Mom to the emergency room. I couldn’t stay with her. For one, I couldn’t leave my son home alone for long. But even I didn’t need to get back to him, the hospital wouldn’t have let me stay. Due to Covid, patients are not allowed to have family with them. I hugged Mom and helped her to the door — she also injured her knee in the fall. When I got back into my car I cried. The last time I had driven a parent to the hospital — not all that long ago — I never saw them again. 

Back at the house, I continued the school day with my son. Throughout the afternoon, Mom texted me with updates. Her knee was not damaged in the fall. But she did fracture her nose. Five hours after I dropped her off, they released her. She has two black eyes. Both eyes are a deep purplish color. It sort of looks like she had an eggplant across her face with two eye holes cut out.

I had hoped to get back to Mattituck by seven o’clock. My writing group — which hadn’t met in months — was meeting via Zoom and I had been looking forward to it for weeks. But after I picked Mom up from the hospital, I took her grocery shopping. My brother didn’t have time to take her before returning home after Thanksgiving. I couldn’t leave her with little food, especially now that walking was difficult. By the time we got back, it was too late to make the drive — in rush hour traffic — back to Long Island. Begrudgingly, my son let me use his tablet so that I could make the meeting.

Even though it wasn’t in person, it was wonderful to connect with my writing friends again. I had finished a rough draft of a middle grade novel shortly before the world shut down back in March. I had been looking forward to workshopping it — a chapter at a time — with my group, but the month I was all set to submit chapter one, we didn’t meet. Last night, they critiqued the opening. Overall, they seemed to think favorably of it, though I do need to tighten up the point of view and make a few other edits. It was fun discussing their work as well. I’ve really missed that. Hopefully, we’ll be able to meet again next month. Meeting visually is definitely better than not meeting at all.

Tomorrow is St. Nick. My spouse will be missing St. Nick with her son because we can’t be home. She is missing out on time with her child because society deemed it more important that she spend time with other peoples’ kids. My son had brought a small stocking with him to hang by the fireplace. It’s not his usual stocking that hangs by the fireplace in New Jersey, but it’s something to let St. Nick know where he is. If Dad were alive, he’d probably be with us. He’d have enjoyed his grandson’s excitement in the morning when he woke up to a stocking full of presents and treats. Not having Dad here is making the holiday season sad. No matter how bad things seemed for me in the past, the Christmas season always cheered me. It always put me in a happy mood. Not this year. Instead, it’s making me feel even more depressed. I can’t even watch a Christmas commercial without crying.

It’s almost 11:00 and my son is still wide awake despite reading for a half hour. I can’t pretend to be St. Nick until he falls asleep since he has a view of the fireplace from his room. I suspect it will be a long evening. Perhaps I should go to bed and set my alarm for sometime in the middle of the night.

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