Something was missing when I stepped in front of my class Monday morning: my mask.
The district where I teach announced the transition to a mask-optional policy last weekend. Before the announcement, I had been wearing a face covering in almost all public situations, even as the number of COVID cases and hospitalizations declined in the area. Yet I persisted, to protect those around me and to be a good role model for students who saw me outside the classroom.
The shift away from mandatory masking in my district wasn’t a surprise, but it nonetheless forced me to grapple with what to do. Similar thoughts may be percolating with many readers currently. Here’s my admittedly jumbled thought process.
First, I am vaccinated and boosted. This means I have a much smaller chance of serious complications if I contract the virus.
I’ve already had COVID twice. The first time was in the pre-vaccine days of late October and early November 2020. The second was between Christmas and New Year’s Eve a few months ago.
The double whammy wasn’t from a lack of caution. My wife and I both work around lots of people. When COVID ripped through Holly’s long-term healthcare facility, it wasn’t surprising that she contracted it and passed it along to me.
I was fortunate in my first go-round to be only moderately ill; I lost about four days. My second time was much easier, similar to a head cold.
No, the vaccine and booster didn't keep me from getting COVID, but they weren’t supposed to. Instead, they helped me to navigate my second illness with fewer symptoms. If a golden window of time really exists that confers some level of immunity, I’m still in it, which was another reason for deciding to remove my mask.
Finally, I don’t come home each day to anybody under the age of 5, the demographic that cannot yet be vaccinated. Nor do I have regular, close interaction with the parents of anybody younger than 5. Those parents, I suspect, may still be masking. I would too.
I don’t fool myself into thinking COVID is over. The zero-cases ship sailed long ago, partially because of inept decisions in early months of the pandemic that politicized public health policy, turning masks, social distancing and vaccines into an “us vs. them” situation. Plenty of blame to go around there.
In my pocket each day as I teach is a mask. If I’m in a situation where a student or I feels uncomfortable, I won’t hesitate to slip it on. Ditto if numbers start to rise again locally or regionally.
And if any second booster or fourth shot comes along, I’ll get the jab, just like I do for the flu each year.
There’s still so much we don’t know about COVID, including whether this latest decline is for keeps. Some experts insist it isn’t and that the virus could mutate again. Hopefully in the summer, when more people are outdoors and less likely to spread it.
Some Americans have criticized the medical community for mixed messaging about COVID, which has added to the confusion. But with a challenge this large, one being wrestled with at federal, state and local levels, with reams of differing laws and procedures, maybe conflicting recommendations are inevitable.
On the positive side, the ongoing COVID experience could normalize some public health procedures. When the flu is especially virulent, or if COVID makes a comeback, maybe residents in hard-hit regions will be more willing to slip on masks to stop or slow the spread. It shouldn’t require a mandate to do the right thing.
Meanwhile, back in my classroom, a few of my students were appalled that the top half of my face didn’t match what they imagined the bottom half looked like. One suggested jokingly, or maybe not, that I cover up again.
Many of my students have unmasked as well, while others have not. Some go home to immunocompromised people. Others are being extra cautious to compete in sports. Still others haven’t secured their parents’ permission to receive the vaccine. Regardless of the choice and the reason, everybody is being respectful of these decisions.
Students haven’t been permanently scarred by masking. Sure, lives have been altered, milestones canceled and modified. Yet there is a sense of being part of something bigger than themselves, of having made a small but significant sacrifice through a piece of material over their mouths and noses.
It’s a model of community that could put many adults to shame.
Reach Chris at chris.schillig@yahoo.com. On Twitter: @cschillig on Twitter
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