Day 364

Friday, March 12, marked one full year since my son has been home from school. Schooling this year has been a nightmare for so many families. Children across the nation are falling behind. But in this year of absolute misery and sorrow, my son’s education has been a bright spot. While other parents are pushing schools to open, I’ve embraced the role of educator for my son. Yes, my background has made it easy and it helps that I’m married to a math teacher. But beyond teaching, I have valued the extra time I’ve gotten to spend with my son. He’s getting older. He’s reached the age where being seen with me in public is embarrassing. He doesn’t even like me to speak to him when we’re out riding our bikes. Soon, he will be off with friends and I’ll be a footnote in his life. So I’m happy that I get to have him a little longer. Sure we haven’t always gotten along, but someday, I’m sure I’ll miss even the arguing. And I know he’s ready for sixth grade. He’ll be able to jump back into school and he won’t need to spend any time catching up. There is no doubt his social life has been disrupted, but not his academic one. Well, maybe he will have a bit of trouble readjusting to tests. I gave up on tests early on. They seemed a waste of time. And seriously, it’s not like I could objectively score my own kid. He might also struggle to readjust to having to operate with the parameters of a particular box. I have never been one to think inside the box, and my teaching style reflects that. I’ve encouraged my son to think critically, and that will benefit him in real life. In school, however, it may be more of a liability.

Yesterday — almost a year to the day since her last taekwondo class — my spouse returned to the mat. Last year, March 14th was picture and pie day. Our instructor had arranged for a photographer to come in to take pictures. He also planned to have a pot luck pie party. Unfortunately, due to the pandemic that seemed to swoop in out of no where —due to our incompetent president who kept denying its existence — he canceled the pie the night before. On Saturday morning, we — my spouse and I — took the adult class and then my son and I stayed for the forms class. While we were warming up, I had a conversation with another parent and mentioned my anxiety about my parents. I told her they were on a cruise down in South America, and I was more than a little worried about them getting home. Getting home proved to be easy. Surviving is what proved impossible for Dad. The following day, everything shut down. We thought, hopefully, optimistically, that the taekwondo school would be closed for two weeks, maybe a month. Since none of us were keen on taking classes via zoom, we all put our memberships on hold.  

I returned first, when Dad was close to death. I guess I desperately needed something to distract me, something positive to strive for. My son took a little longer. But by September he too was back. My spouse — who had only started taking classes a month before the shutdown and had never even had the opportunity to graduate beyond her white belt — has been far too busy with work to even consider returning. Work during the pandemic — teaching virtually, in-person, and hybrid students — has absorbed all her time. She works longer hours than ever and is exhausted by the time she come home. But my son really wants her to advance and so he offered her a deal she couldn’t refuse.

When we go on vacation during the summer, my son and I enjoy visiting historical places, but much of what I put on our itinerary bores my spouse. Three years ago, she decided that for every president’s house we visit we would also stop at a winery. My son hates this idea. Wineries bore him as much as history bores my spouse. And he complains every time we stop. So, this year, to convince his mother to return to taekwondo, he told her that if she gets her orange decided belt he would allow her to visit eight wineries on our vacation — eight wineries and he wouldn’t whine one bit. She took him up on it. And that’s why on Saturday, nearly a year to the date of her last class, she ended up back on the mat.

Today, we took my son shopping for funeral clothes. He used to have an entire closet full of dress clothes: suits, button down shirts, sports jackets. He used to enjoy dressing up for school. But for the last twelve months he has worn nothing but sweats. Lounging around the house, he hasn’t needed much else and so he has outgrown all his dress clothes. Though we had to visit many stores, we did eventually buy him an outfit to wear to Dad’s funeral mass. We couldn’t find black pants, but gray will do. The only thing my son didn’t need was a tie. He has plenty and we’ll let him select the one he wants to wear. I hate shopping for clothes under the best circumstances. Shopping for Dad’s funeral completely drained me emotionally. 

A year ago today, the first New Yorker died from COVID. A year ago, I had no idea that in month, my father would also be dead. A year ago, we were disappointed that we couldn’t eat pie. If only that was worst COVID had done to us. If only that was all it had stolen from us.