Columnists
Dang and Double Dang
Who’s with me on this? Don’t you think there should be a designated time when we aren’t bothered about, obsessed with, or thinking about, COVID-19, Liberal government scandals, back-to-school preparedness and Donald J. Turnip? You know, a holiday from the hellhole 2020 is. Don’t you think we should have at least one day in 2020 when we aren’t overwhelmed with politics and pandemics? I’m all for it. I’m not sure how to make it happen for me and my family, but I’m working on it. Avoiding broadcast news and focusing on the family and friends doesn’t seem to work because, sooner or later, conversations turn away from how much rain we had last week, or how hot it was in July, or what we should eat for lunch, to a tiresome discussion all of the above-noted.
To that end, this weekend LOML and I played host to our children, their spouses and the grand-littles. Secretly, we hoped we’d just have fun and not worry about viruses and politics. We’d all get together, enjoy some good food, make a bit of music, enjoy some pool time, take a walk and smear our faces with late night s’mores. And as hectic as LOML and I know it can be to have nine extra bodies visiting, we secretly hoped we could “do the weekend” without having any of the discussions that stress us more than keeping everyone fed and having enough towels for our backyard “24-foot freestyle Olympians”. Saturday morning and afternoon passed without so much as a peep about the bad smell 2020 has become. And then it happened. As we sat around the bonfire late Saturday night, one of the grands asked what I had worn on my first day of school, in the olden days, when I was in Grade Six. She’s heading to Grade Six. And I told her that Grade Six had been so long ago. I remembered my teacher’s name. I remembered my best friends’ names (and remarked that we are still friends) and I remembered what my favourite subject was. I just couldn’t remember what I wore on that first day of school, though. She said it was “okay, to not remember” and then added she wasn’t sure if she was going back to “real school” this year, but if she were, she knew what she was going to wear. In years past, returning to school was about the most exciting thing our youngest grand-girl could think of doing. She’d ramble off what she was going to wear, what she was going have for lunch and nutrition break and who she was going to play with at recess. Dang. Saturday had been going so well, and then our youngest grand-little wanted us to know, in her own way, she was concerned about COVID-19 interfering with her September plans. Dang and double dang.
Grand-girl and I talked about my grade Six experience, as much as I could remember. I told her how much I loved elementary school. I told her about Social Studies being one of my favourite subjects. She said they “didn’t do” Social Studies these days. I told her how excited I was to sit beside my best friend on the school bus. She walks to school and was surprised I had to take a bus. I told her how much I loved playing jump rope at recess. She told me they weren’t allowed to bring jump ropes to school. She wanted to know if I’d looked forward to being a senior at school and if I had a favourite television show, a favourite lunch and a favourite book. I know she wanted me (or another adult) to make it right and reassure her that she’d be going back to school, the way it should be, and that things would be just like she remembered the first day of Grade Five being. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t tell her it would all work out. I could tell her that the pandemic would disappear right after Labour Day. I am worried about back-to-school, especially since she is going to school in Mississauga. Most of us grownups think life is easy and breezy for little kids but, obviously, it isn’t. She was tense. I know her parents are tense. I’m sure her teachers are tense. And they aren’t tense with the first day jitters we all get when the new school year starts. This was definitely different.
We watched the bonfire for a little while and she said, “I hope we get to come back to visit for the Picton Fair or maybe the No-ride Fair”.
Crap and double dang. I hate these times.
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