Updated: May 22, 2020
Originally Published: May 21, 2020
For more than two months, my family and I have been confined to our home—my partner, our two young sons, and I. Both my partner and I are fortunate to maintain our jobs remotely, a challenging endeavor given the closure of daycare facilities. We are striving to balance childcare responsibilities while ensuring we meet deadlines and participate in crucial conference calls.
We’ve adapted to having groceries and Friday night pizza delivered, along with essential items from online retailers. When the weather permits, we enjoy playing in the yard, thankful for the sunny days. On less favorable days, we engage in games, read books, craft simple projects, construct couch-cushion forts, and spend more time on screens than I’d prefer.
Overall, I’ve managed to cope during this time—not thriving, but surviving. There have been moments of tears, particularly when watching commercials honoring essential workers or when a parade of firetrucks from our town passes by our house on their way to a socially distanced birthday celebration for a child. We miss our friends and family, the events that have been canceled, and the normalcy of our previous lives. Yet, we are fortunate—we have food, financial stability, and good health.
However, on a recent sunny afternoon, the reality of COVID-19 became overwhelming. As my partner prepared our boys for a walk around the neighborhood, outfitting them with socks, shoes, sweatshirts, and masks, I felt a wave of emotion wash over me. Watching him place a mask on our cheerful three-year-old shattered my composure. Tears filled my eyes, and my partner, noticing my distress, quickly led the boys outside as I succumbed to heavy sobs—sobs I had been holding back for too long.
I despise the masks.
I dislike seeing people wearing them as they walk by. I am troubled by the half-covered faces in social media images. It pains me to see my children don these masks.
I hate the masks because they evoke thoughts of hospitals and loss. They remind me that my boys might return to daycare with their teachers masked up. I resent the crocodile-print mask crafted by my cousin, a costume designer on Broadway, who is currently out of work.
These masks symbolize everything we can’t do anymore—visiting relatives, attending baseball games, playing at the playground, dining out. They serve as a reminder of the illness that lurks nearby. The uncertainty of how long these restrictions will last leaves me feeling lost, with more questions than answers.
Yet, I don’t want my sons to share my disdain for masks. I ushered them outside, not to hide my tears from them—they’ve seen me cry, and it has sparked important conversations about the pandemic and our gratitude for those working to keep us safe.
I want them to understand that masks are not the enemy. They are vital and can save lives. While these masks may represent the limitations we currently face, they are also a key element in helping us regain our freedom and inch closer to a new normal, even if that normal looks different from what we once knew.
So, although I may personally loathe them, we will wear them. Fortunately, to my three- and five-year-old sons, masks are rather amusing, at least for now.
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In summary, while masks may invoke feelings of frustration and loss, they are an essential tool in our fight against the pandemic, and it’s important we help our children understand their significance.